Archive for February, 2012

February 28, 2012

Tuesday Titters: Week 9; A bird that ran a ‘fowl’ of his owner

by Janie Jones

I think there is more than one version of this joke out there, but I seem to recall having heard a version somewhat like this one some time ago…

This guy had inherited a parrot who had outlived his crude and foul mouthed uncle.  The first week after he inherited the parrot it did nothing but scream chauvinistic remarks, racial slurs and various obscenities morning noon and night.  The guy’s wife grew tired of it and demanded something be done.  So, the man had a talk with the parrot.

Man:  Polly, you’ve got to clean up your act or it will be history for you!  Please dial down the mouth!

Polly:  *Squwack!*  Polly want’s to screw you!

A few days went by and nothing much changed.  Eventually the wife gave the man an ultimatum.

Wife:  If you don’t shut that bird up, I’ll take matters into my own hands!

So the man once again talked to the bird.

Man:  Polly, now I’ve asked you very nicely to clean up your mouth.  My wife is getting very upset, you don’t want her to take matters into her own hands, now do you?

Polly:  *bobs head and clicks tongue*  Polly want’s to get ugly on that *%$@ ^&#@ing bee-otch!

Man:  No!  Polly!  Please.

Wife:  That’s it!  I’m going to cool you off, you beastly bird!

And the wife grabbed the parrot and stuffed him in the fridge over night.  The man pleaded with his wife, but she steadfastly refused to let the bird out until morning.  Finally morning came and the wife opened the fridge to find the bird huddled shivering in the back of the fridge.

Wife:  So.  Have you learned your lesson?

The bird glared at the woman and muttered.

Wife:  What was that?

Polly:  Nothing, you *%$@ ^&#@ing bee-otch!

And so the wife threw the bird back in to the refrigerator and slammed the door.

That evening the man came home from work and ran to the refrigerator to check on the parrot.  He opened the door to the fridge and gasped in horror.  There was bird poop every where and all the food had been strewn about, ruined.  The bird instantly flew out of the fridge. 

Man:  What have you done!?!

Polly:  *Squwak!*  I’ll show that *%$@ ^&#@ing bee-otch!  *Squwak!*

Man:  Shh!  She’ll hear you!

Polly:  Who the bloody ^&#@ing hell does that *%$@ ^&#@ing bee-otch think she is! 

Unfortunately all the noise got the wife’s attention, and she came into the kitchen.  She took one look at the mess and screamed in rage.

Man:  I’ll take care of it honey!  It’s okay.

Wife:  No!  Get out of here.  I’ll handle this.

As the man walked out of the kitchen he heard screaming, thumps and crashes and flapping of wings.

Polly:  Oh, I’m not going back into that !+? >@~= refrigerator you *%$@ ^&#@ing bee-otch! 

Wife:  Okay.  Fine.  You can cool off in here instead!

There was a slam and then it went quiet.

The man was too afraid of upsetting his wife to ask what went on in the kitchen.  The next morning the man was still too nervous to ask his wife about what happened in the kitchen, so instead he gave her a kiss and headed for the door.

Wife:  Oh, wait a minute dear.  I was going to make stuffed chicken tonight but I’m afraid that in all last night’s commotion, I forgot to take the chicken out of the freezer.  Please stop on the way home and pick up some steaks or pork chops for dinner.  Unless you want fresh poultry for dinner.

Man:  No, no dear.  I’ll stop for something.  I won’t forget.  I promise.  Have a nice day.

All day long the man wondered and worried about the parrot.  He didn’t forget his shopping errand either.  He even left work a bit early so he could arrive home in good time with two plump filet Mignon and a large bouquet of roses.

His wife seemed happy, the house was quiet and they had a lovely evening like they hadn’t had since he’d inherited the bird.  At last the man went to the family room and sat down to the television.  He was startled by a soft, sweet voice coming from the corner of the room.

“Good evening, sir.  Hello.  Did Sir have a nice day?”

The man looked around and noticed the parrot shivering on a perch in the shadows next to the heat register.

Man:  Polly!  I didn’t know you were there.  What’s the matter with you?  Are you cold?

Polly:  Hello!  Polly is warming up nicely, Sir.  Would Sir like a cracker?  Does Sir want a cigar?  Hello!  Get Sir some slippers!

The bird flew off and returned with the man’s slippers.  The man was stunned.

Man:  Polly!  Thank you!  My goodness, you’re like a different bird.  What happened?

The bird shivered and cried:  Did you see what that c%$k- s#@king bee-otch did to that poor G+d damn chicken?  I didn’t want to bloody f*cking end up like that bugger!

Happy Tuesday

February 21, 2012

Tuesday Titters: Week 8; Don’t break your funny bone

by Janie Jones

I can’t take credit for making this joke up or even just remembering it from way back.  I saw it on a sign driving home from school recently and I thought it was so lame it was hysterical and giggled all the way home (about 70 miles).  But, you all already know my funny bone rolls in that way.

Have you heard the one about the clown who went to the doctor?  Apparently he was feeling funny.

Happy Tuesday!

February 18, 2012

Spudisms #10: When updates from the planet obvious rock your world

by Janie Jones

My alternate title for this piece was: Lessons in the birds and the bees.
Or: The spud, mind like a steel trap.
Or: Child, thy middle name should have been Captain Obvious.
Or: Embarrassing Mommahood stories.

Well, I hope you’re forewarned, this post may get graphic.

Apparently the spud’s class made a big deal out of Groundhog Day. Lately it’s been Punxsutawney Phil this and Punxsutawney Phil that, and what is a little less apparent but I believe I managed to logic out of context clues, if you can call 7 year old jabber context, there was some story about a girl groundhog named Phyllis (which took me a few extra minutes to decipher, because she first pronounced it phallus, and so I probably missed a good three minutes of the conversation pondering that one) who wanted to be Phil and borrowed her grandfather’s top hat (you can see why the mispronunciation threw me off, I thought for sure she’d stumbled across some dirty joke).

Don’t even try to ask what all this means. This is the best I can translate.

Spud: Phyllis was a groundhog just like Phil.

Me: Mmmhmm.

Spud: Well, she wasn’t exactly like Phil. She was a girl, Phil was a boy.

Me: Mmmhmm.

Spud: Boys and girls are different, Momma. That means they’re not the same.

Me: Yes. *ecstatic to finally understand something she said* Yes. That’s very true.

But, in the back of my mind I was also thinking, “Well thank you Captain Obvious.”

Of course the spud understands the differences between boys and girls. We’ve talked about it before from time to time, especially since about a year or so ago when she asked her daddy why his pants bunched out between his legs.  A few weeks ago I found a book about reproduction with tasteful age appropriate pictures. I don’t believe in making sex and babies a mystery, besides, I’ve had multiple health and biology courses where she’s already seen all kinds of photos in my text books. But, at seven, there is a different interpretation of the obvious.

Spud: Momma. When girl zebras have a baby the boy zebra gets on top of her.

Me: Well, actually that happens first. The boy zebra gets on top and puts his penis in the girl zebra to make the baby zebra.

Spud: Right. Because boys have penises.

Me: That’s right.

Spud: And girls don’t.

Me: That’s right.

Spud: So daddy put is penis in you before I was born.

Me: *insert sound of needle being drug across a record album (surely you all remember that sound, right?) and suddenly this conversation isn’t so fun any more* Ahh. Yeah, that’s right.

Spud: That’s gross.

Me: *it was rapidly becoming clear as to why the poor stork was such a popular scapegoat* Yeah. Yeah. It kinda sounds that way right now, but you’re only seven.

But, what I was really thinking was, “Are we done here, Captain Obvious?”

February 16, 2012

Spudisms #9: Please pass the tortuga noodles

by Janie Jones

Spud: What are we having for dinner?

Me: Chicken and tortellini noodles.


Spud: Are these the turtle noodles?

Me: Turtle noodles? You mean tortellini noodles?

Spud: Yeah. Well, they kinda look like little turtles.

Me: You think so?

Spud: Yeah.

Me: Well, maybe they do sort of. A little.

Oh, and by the way, here’s some Spanish vocabulary trivia. Tortuga is how you say turtle in Spanish. It kinda rolls right of the tongue. Tortuga. Say it with me. Tortuga. Tortuga. Tortuga.

I think I’m loosing my mind.

February 14, 2012

Tuesday Titters: Week 7, Shot through the heart and Cupid’s to blame

by Janie Jones

So you all know what’s coming, right?  A very lame Valentine’s Day theme joke. 

So without further ado:

What knock-knock joke does Cupid never get tired of hearing?


Who’s there?


Olive who?

Olive you!

Happy Valentine’s Day!

February 13, 2012

Apparently I’m barking up the wrong blog theme

by Janie Jones

So I just happened to notice recently that I get a lot of hits searching for meatloaf related topics.  In fact, searches relating to meatloaf are second only to topics relating to Black Moor fish.  While blogging, for me anyway, is not meant to be a popularity contest, it is fun to see that people have visited you.  It’s even more fun when they leave comments and nominate you for awards.  But, I digress.

If I was trying to be a blog hit-counter-whore, I guess the public is sending me a clear message that I should write more posts about meatloaf and Black Moor fish.  Or perhaps a meatloaf made with Black Moor fish, then I could combine my search totals and triple my hits per post.

Ewww!  Maybe not so much.

Sadly our last Black Moor fish died a couple weeks ago, and I don’t think we’ll be getting any more anytime soon, so I guess the meatloaf topics sans Black Moor fish will have to carry my blog from now on.  That’s probably a blessing in disguise.  I don’t think people would really like Black Moor Meatloaf.  Black Angus Meatloaf though may be worth contemplating.  Strange how changing just one word can take something from disgusting to delicious.

Any way, I’m just rambling and procrastinating at this point, mostly because I have a writing class assignment I have to complete which I so do not want to do.  But, if I want to get any grade other than a zero, I suppose I’d best put on my big girl panties and get at it.

But first I think I’ll thaw some meatloaf for dinner.  Oh, and go feed all the fish we have left that aren’t Black Moor fish.

Happy Monday.

February 12, 2012

Sometimes you’re the pigeon and sometimes you’re the statue

by Janie Jones

The spud, tragically aged 7, sighed heavily at dinner tonight and proclaimed dramatically:  I’m doomed.

To which Leif replied:  Just remember; in life, you never make it out alive.

The spud wrinkled up her nose and made a face.

Leif clarified:  Life is the best teacher, but it ultimately kills all its students.

The spud sighed heavily again.