Superstorm Sandy was not the only ill wind to blow ashore this recent election season.
Tag Archives: humor
Freeform Friday: “And they call the wind Oh-My-Oh”
Superstorm Sandy was not the only ill wind to blow ashore this recent election season.
Filed under cartoon by author, Freeform Friday, political humor
The blathering idiot and The Pro-Accordion Party, part 10, the image
The blathering idiot had not done well in the one debate held on a public access channel in North Dakota. It had gone so poorly that nobody, even among the few Pro-Accordion Party supports in North Dakota remembered seeing him on the stage. Even the green Party candidate received more recognition.
The most notable thing that anybody could remember about the blathering idiot’s performance was that he had vowed to have accordion jazz music played at his inauguration. But even the one reporter covering the debate could not remember that it was him, the blathering idiot, who had said it. Only that somebody had said it and that it was the funniest line of the entire debate.
The blathering idiot had not intended for it to be funny.
But even Lydia had said it sounded funny to her, at least the way he had said it. Xenia said she had laughed out loud, time and time again, when she watched that clip of the debate on YouTube. That part of the debated was about t go viral, she said.
The blathering idiot did not think viral sounded good. He was pretty sure that meant terrible, but he was too afraid to ask. He was afraid that it would mean that his off-again, on-again girlfriend, Zoey, was right – that he would never amount to much.
That thought was still running through his head when the consultant walked into his motel room. He walked right up to the blathering idiot and said, “I have the answer.”
Lydia looked excited. Even Xenia looked a little excited. The blathering idiot did not feel excited.
“We don’t have much time, so we have to strike out in a new direction so we can stand out. You have to have a whole new image. Something that says: rugged, ready, pro-gun, pro-self-defense, professional in everything you do, which will appeal to the men, but also something that says, ‘I’m a man’s man.’ Chiseled features, rugged good looks. Something that will appeal to the ladies. And after all, they are the ones you really need to impress to get elected to the highest office in the land.”
The blathering idiot glanced at Lydia who nodded slightly. He glanced at Xenia who shrugged her shoulders as if to say all this boy-girl stuff was boring her.
The blathering idiot swallowed and said, “Okay. What do you have in mind?”
“A complete makeover.”
“Complete?”
“Exactly.”
“What will I look like when you’re done?”
“We’re done,” the consultant said. “You have to believe in this, too, or it won’t work.”
“Okay. What will I look like?”
“Do you believe in this?”
“I guess.”
“Do you believe in this?” The consultant’s voice was louder.
“Yes.”
“Say it again.”
“Yes,” the blathering idiot said.
“Louder.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, I believe!” the consultant shouted.
“Yes, I believe!” the blathering idiot shouted.
“Here, then,” the consultant said, “is what you will look like as a candidate after I … I mean … we complete your makeover.”
He slapped a photo in the blathering idiot’s lad.
For a second, the blathering idiot was afraid to look, but then slowly he tilted his head down and looked at the photo. What he saw in his lap surprised him, shocked him, and then sent a shiver down his spine.
He closed his eyes and hoped he would awaken in Oz or even Kansas.
The blathering idiot’s new image.
Filed under blathering idiot, political humor, Pro-Accordion Party
Sunday Silliness: limerick: “Ohio”
There once was a woman ill from Ohio
whose love life was in complete spiral.
She took to her bed,
pulled the pillows over her head:
her boyfriend had voted across the aisle.
Filed under poetry by author, political humor, Sunday silliness
Freeform Friday: “At home with a good book”
I wanna go home
where the buffalo roam
all about the loam,
and the troll and the gnome
eat crumpets from a comb
and the strumpets of Rome
read erotica from a tome
and wait for you at home
where the fun’s allowed to roam
wild as strumpets on a comb
and crumpets on the loam
and buffalo with a tome
thundering about the streets of Rome.
I wanna go home.
“…strumpets read erotica from a tome….”
Filed under Freeform Friday, Photo by author, poetry by author
cARtOONSdAY: “Blown about”
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.
Filed under cartoon by author, CarToonsday
Monday morning writing joke: “Smarts”
Getting less for more. Sometimes its hard to please any reader.
While at a book signing the other day, I overheard one person say to the other as they walked by my table: “He makes me wish I had a lower IQ so I could enjoy his book.”
Filed under no respect
The blathering idiot and the Pro-Accordion Party, part 9, fund raising
The blathering idiot stood outside, behind a table with a few bumper stickers, buttons, and other items, including some holiday decorations. It was cool autumn morning. Leaves were falling. He could almost hear them. He turned toward Lydia at the table next to his. All three tables together formed a shallow U.
“Is this how it’s done?” he asked.
She smiled at him. “We are a small party with only a small name recognition. Until we become more well known, we won’t get the big money donors like the other parties have.”
The blathering idiot turned and looked at Xenia, his young assistant and the daughter of his off again, on again girlfriend. She was standing at a shorter table to his right. This was the fourth such event they had both been a part of this week. At none of the events did they seem to have much success.
She smiled at him, and then shrugged her shoulders. There were a few things on her table. She was actually selling more than he was.
He looked back at Lydia. “How much money do we have to raise today?”
“More than yesterday.”
“And how much did we raise yesterday?”
“Not enough.”
“That’s what you said yesterday when I asked about the day before.”
“And it was true then and it’s true now. These days, with outside groups being able to buy and run all kinds of ads on their own, campaigns need a lot of money just to get going, and to keep them going requires even more.”
“Like a corporate sponsor?” the blathering idiot asked.
“Not quite,” Lydia said.
“Like maybe we could get a sponsor to put their logo on the side of the campaign truck? ‘This campaign sponsored by Deep Fried Fritters,’” Xenia said. “’Deep fried fritters, just the thing to warm you up on a cool fall morning.’”
Xenia did her best to put an announcer’s voice into her mock advertisement.
“I don’t think that would fit on the side of the truck,” the blathering idiot said.
“And that’s not what this is about.” Lydia scowled at Xenia.
“Then what is this about?” the blathering idiot asked.
“It’s about name recognition,” Lydia said
“Then maybe we should sponsor something.”
“But we don’t have the money.”
“And that’s why we’re out here.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s why we’ve been doing this for four days?”
“Yes.”
“And how many more days will we be outside like this?” Xenia asked.
“Until we raise enough money,” Lydia said.
“To sponsor something?” the blathering idiot asked.
Lydia scowled at him. “The Pro-Accordion Party is already sponsoring you. This yard sale and all the other ones is about raising money to get you elected to the highest office in the land. Pro-Accordion members donated all this junk so you might get elected!”
Just then two people came through the gate into the yard. They heard the word junk, looked disappointed and even a little angry (The blathering idiot thought he saw a scowl forming on the man’s face.), immediately turned around and left.
“I guess he won’t be sponsoring us,” Xenia said.
This time Lydia glared at her.
Sometimes it’s hard to get the people who are selling to buy into what you are selling.
Filed under blathering idiot, Photo by author, Pro-Accordion Party
Freeform Friday: limerick. “The chairs”
There once was a man from Bengal
who met a woman through a business phone call.
They arranged to meet;
she was soon sitting on his seat
because his chairs had been part of her recall.
Filed under Freeform Friday
cARtOONSdAY: lIFE, uNIVERSITY oF
Crash courses available.
Filed under cartoon by author, CarToonsday
The blathering idiot and the Pro-Accordion party, part 8, fourth grade
The blathering idiot was in a fourth grade class. Why he was in a fourth grade class, he wasn’t sure, except that Lydia had told him they were studying about the civic process of getting elected to office and that she knew the teacher and had told the teacher she was working with a candidate for the highest office in the land, and the teacher asked if the candidate might be available to speak to her class, and Lydia had said sure, and so here he was.
They were standing in the school, a small old house actually that had been converted to a full time school many years ago.
The blathering idiot looked up the stairway leading to the second floor. The fourth grade was immediately to his right at the top of the stairs. He felt butterflies and breakfast churning in his stomach. He wasn’t ready for this. He was sure of it. And they were late. The teacher would rap his knuckles for being late now just like she did when he was in the fourth grade. It didn’t matter that it was a different school in a different city with a different teacher. There was a quantum connection among all fourth grade teachers and they universally want to rap your knuckles for being late to class, no matter the excuse. No excuse was ever good enough to overcome the quantum connection.
Climbing the stairway back to fourth grade. “I don’t want to do this,” he said.
“I don’t want to do this,” he said.
Wasn’t there a show about being smarter than a fifth grader? Maybe this was a prelude to talking to fifth graders.
“Think of it as practice for when you get on the road and are campaigning.”
Fifth graders for sure, he thought.
“She’ll wrap my knuckles,” he said.
“What?” Lydia asked.
He looked at her. He couldn’t disguise the fear. “We’re late and she wants to wrap my knuckles!”
The first grade teacher leaned out of the door to her room and pointed a ruler at them. “Quiet, please.”
She looked younger than he remembered his first grade teacher looking. Prettier, too. His stomach calmed slightly. Then he noticed the ruler and his stomach started fluttering again.
“Wait here,” Lydia said.
Before he could say anything, she was up the stairs and knocking on the fourth grade teacher’s door. Then she disappeared inside the room and the blathering idiot’s stomach started fluttering again.
It was probably only a few minutes, but to the blathering idiot it felt like a few hours. Then the door to the fourth grade classroom opened, Lydia poked her head out, and she waved the blathering idiot upstairs.
Slowly he trudged up the stairs. It felt like school all over again.
When he reached the top, the fourth grade teacher opened the door and invited him in. She smiled and her face looked more kind than stern. The blathering idiot looked at her hand. She was not holding a ruler.
He shrugged and trudged into the room.
Lydia introduced him as a candidate running for the highest office in the land and the fourth graders looked at him oddly.
“For real?” one boy with red hair asked.
“For real,” Lydia said.
“Now, Jeffry,” the teacher said, “Remember to raise your hand first and wait to be called on before asking a question.”
The blathering idiot glanced over at her. He still saw no ruler. But he had a sudden urge for his sock monkey, the one he had when he was five and kept with him up to the fourth grade, where a couple of the boys tugged it away from him and tore it apart.
Every kid in the classroom raised a hand.
The teacher pointed at a little girl in the back of the room. She looked small for a fourth grader and she wore very large glasses.
“Yes, Abigail, you can ask your question.”
Abigail stood up beside her desk, but didn’t look any taller than when she was sitting in it. In fact, she looked a little shorter.
The blathering idiot leaned slightly toward as if he anticipated her voice to be as small as she was.
Instead, the room filled with a large, loud, high-pitched squeal as she asked her question: “And why are you running for this office, anyway?”
He looked over at Lydia and he felt his face getting hot. Would a small fourth grader with big glasses understand running for the highest office in the land to make your on again, off again girl friend jealous, prove her wrong that you would never amount to anything? Would a fourth grader understand that he was running because he now wanted to spend more time with Lydia, though she had never indicated more than a professional interest in him? Would a school kid understand that within him as probably within many grown men, there is a desire to better at something than anybody else, to prove he was unique, one-of-a-kind, just like his parents had always told him he was growing up.
He remembered his own sock monkey, torn apart in the fourth grade, where the teacher rapped his knuckles for being late.
He stared at the exaggerated eyes of the little girl and he remembered what the consultant had told him: keep his answers brief and keep his answers on the level of the person asking the question.
So, instead of trying to explain all his true jumble of thoughts and feelings, he said, “Because I thought it would be fun to be elected to the highest office in the land. Maybe some day you’ll want to, too.”
The little girl shook her head so vigorously, her shoulders and torso moved. “No. I want to be a veterinarian. I think that would be more fun. Don’t you?”
The blathering idiot felt his knuckles sting as if they had just been smacked by a ruler. He was sure he wasn’t ready for fifth grade … and he wanted his sock monkey.
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