Right To Strike Puns

Last night during a pretty aggressive thunderstorm, a huge lightening strike, along with an incredibly deafening thunder clap happened right next to our house. It was about 11pm and Susan was snuggled up to her Mother next to me in our bed. After a few seconds of Lori saying something soothing to our 9 year old she was holding, saying something like 'its ok, its just a little storm, we are safe...', I call out to our older 12 year old in her room just next door.

"Sarah!?" I called to her, in my normal tone to get her attention.

"Yeah? What?" She responded.

"Was that you?" I called back.

After a long pause Sarah replied "No Dad. That was thunder!"

I could not stop laughing.

So the organizers contacted the elves and started communicating their rights to them.

At first, union outreach seemed to be going well. But then the process ran aground.

The elves delivering the presents had some contact with the outside world, so they understood they were getting a bad deal and wanted to go on strike.

And even the factory elves were sympathetic, because they'd seen their coworkers be punished for getting injured.

But, as one organizer mourned,

"It's the little folks slaving away in the back of the warehouse who don't understand. They're loyal to the big man, because he keeps them so isolated."

All in all, it was a bad case of stock gnome syndrome.

Back in the before times, when sit-down restaurants existed, I used to order boneless cheese sticks and would just throw the word "boneless" in front of any appetizer with 100% corniness. The purpose of this isn't to make a good joke. It's not a good joke. The purpose is to make my dining companions catch some cringe splash damage and want to crawl into a hole and die out of embarrassment for my being horribly corny.

But there is a real, deeper purpose that I've discovered entirely by accident. People, especially young people, are so self-conscious and worried about saying or doing something embarrassing that it taints a lot of social gatherings. They go to a restaurant and are afraid to speak up even when their order is blatantly wrong. They'll tip well even when the food took an hour to arrive and the server has disappeared into the corn stalks behind a baseball field. It takes 2 hours of hanging out together before some friends finally stop nitpicking themselves, uncomfortable in their own bodies and brains, feeling perpetually judged, and begin to relax. These are the kinds of people who go to sleep every night replaying cringey moments from high school. Their last thought of the day is when the Burger King girl said, "Enjoy your meal!" and they said, "Thanks, you too."

It takes 2 hours and/or a lot of booze before they're comfortable enough to take conversational risks and truly reveal themselves. But if I come right out of the gate with a really dumb joke, then we can cut to the chase. There's less danger because someone in the group already shot themselves in the foot, right off the bat. They pulled a pin on the cringe grenade and then jumped on it.

You cringe at my dumb joke and then we're over the hump. Someone has already done something pretty stupid, so go ahead and order the hubcap of nachos and a massive chocolate shake because nobody is going to judge you poorly while they're all judging me.

In terms of price negotiations (haggling), there is a psychological concept called "anchoring". You throw out the first number and all subsequent numbers are compared to that number. This is the same idea. We've already set the humor standard pretty low at "boneless cheese sticks", so you can say the dumbest shit you want and, as long as it's not worse than my cheesy joke, it won't matter.

This is why, when you were a teenager and your dad took you and some friends out, your dad made corny jokes. He knew they were corny jokes. You and your friends un

"Did I ever tell you about the asshole?"

"What?"

"Well, the asshole was at a meeting with all of the other body parts, and they were deciding who should be in charge of the whole body, right? So first, the brain says, 'C'mon, obviously I should be the boss. I do all of the decisions, thinking--why is this even a question?'

'Well, good luck doing all of the thinking if you can't see where you're going,' say the eyes. 'We should be in charge.'

'What good is it going to do seeing, if you can't get anywhere?' asked the legs.

'Well, without us, you'd have no oxygen,' said the lungs.

'Are you serious?' said the stomach. 'How are you supposed to process energy and do any of this stuff, without me??'

'Well, what about me?' piped up the asshole. 'I'm important too..'

'You?!?' laughed the other parts. 'Shut up, asshole!'

So the asshole went on strike.

A week and a half later, the brain couldn't think straight. The eyes couldn't focus, the legs were asleep from sitting on the pot, and the stomach was so jammed up full of crap that the lungs could barely breathe.

Finally, they all went to the asshole and said, 'Look, we're sorry, we're sorry!! Just come back to work, you can be in charge!'

...and that's why all bosses are assholes."

Miss ya, Pops.

Hello everyone. Today, a 72-year-old man named Mike came into my office. Mike blessed me with many gifts, a sampling of which I would like to share with you all here.

First, Mike asked how I was. I said "good, how are you?" Mike: I had a dream last night I was a muffler. And when I woke up it scared me because I was exhausted.

Mike also has an ex wife. "My Ex wife was so ugly her mom made her go trick or treating by telephone so she didn’t scare the other children."

Not just one ex wife, Mike has two ex wives. "My ex wife was so ugly I used to take her to work with me so I didn’t have to kiss her goodbye"

Mike does a lot of work for various charities. "I asked the lady at a restaurant if I could post my flyer for an event in the window. She said 'that depends, are you a non-profit?' I said 'lady I've got two ex wives, I haven't had profit in 30 years!'"

Those darn ex wives. "I’m so poor a pick pocket tried to rob me the other day and all he got was practice."

Mike actually came to my office to tell me about a basketball camp he's putting on next week. He's been playing basketball for 64 years. "I was a great athlete in high school. I was voted most valuable player by all the cheerleaders."

There was one girl though who got away. "There was a girl who lived down the street and I used to call her all the time and say 'Sarah, can I come over?' and she'd say no. So one day she called & said “Mike, come over, nobody's home.” So I went to her house and she was right, there wasn’t anybody there."

That girl may be why he didn't play baseball. "I played football, basketball and track. Someone asked me 'Mike, why didn't you play baseball?' I said 'because I was already so good at striking out!'"

Anyways, Mike went on to have a lengthy career in TV and radio, until he didn't. "I had to quit my job for medical reasons. My boss said I made her sick."

Thank you for your time.

I have a bunch of stupid baseball questions. I know most of the rules, I just want to make sure I have all my bases covered.

• Imagine there’s a fan of the team that is currently fielding in the stands, and that said fan has a prosthetic arm. The batter hits a pitch and sends it on a home-run trajectory into the stands. If the fan in the stands throws his arm at the ball and diverts it back in the field of play, can they rightfully say that they were just “lending the team a hand” by stopping the home run?

• Consider the exact opposite situation - the fan’s team is at bat and the batter hits a fly ball to the outfield. If Elastagirl from the Incredibles just happened to be the fan in question, can she spring into action and catch the ball before the outfielder has the chance to?

• Now, imagine I smuggled a water gun into the stadium on a particularly hot day, and I managed to squirt sticky black liquid onto the batter. Does that mean he can take a walk since he was “hit by pitch”?

• Consider the freak circumstance where a ball in motion collides with a bird, causing it to spiral in its descent and eventually collide in turn with an umpire. Can the player responsible for the ball’s motion be ejected from the game due to repeatedly flipping the bird at an umpire?

• Can a losing team sub out their man on the mound with a large quantity of beer to prolong the game? There’d still be a pitcher on the mound!

• If a pitcher throws a slider into the strike zone and the batter doesn’t swing, should the umpire consider it a strike, a ball, or the catcher’s dinner?

Wife hands me a birthday card to sign for our nephew...

Me: "Where is his birthday party again?"

Wife: "It's at Stars and Strikes today."

Me: "Oh man!!! I wish I could go, but I have to work."

Wife: "Yeah, I know. It's right up your alley!"

HI I’m Tim the turtle, yes a real turtle. And I would like to tell you the story of my best friend. I once had a friend by the name of Sam. Sam of course was a clam. A real live honest to goodness clam. He was my best buddy, but unfortunately he smoked and drank and ran around with loose women (and a few men). I was more of the goodie two shoes type. I never drank, never smoked, I didn’t even swear. But for some reason Sam and I were the best of friends. I guess you can say we were the epitome of opposites attracting. One day as we were hanging out walking along the beach Sam, after his fifth cigarette in a row, had a heart attack and died. I was heart broken. My best friend died right there in front of me and he never repented his evil ways. I was sure he would spend eternity in damnation. Sigh. Being the goodie two shoes type I was still extremely healthy well into my old age. I missed my friend terribly for many years. On his birthday I would host a party and invite his old stripper girlfriends and poker buddies around to relive stories. It was always a fun evening, but in the end left me more lonely than before. Eventually, my broken heart couldn’t stand it anymore and I too died. I was pleased to find that there was a heaven. Being an almost saint I was whisked directly past the line to the Pearly Gates to be greeted by St. Peter. A big grin erupted on his face and he came right around his desk to give me a great big hug. “Tim”, he said, “You have been such a good person back on earth that God has asked me to grant you any wish you would like before even entering heaven”. To say I was flabbergasted is an understatement. I thought for a minute, I guess God expected me to ask for more time on earth, but I knew what I really wanted to do was to visit with my old friend Sam. So I asked. Poor St. Peter didn’t know what to say. You know Sam is in Hell right? Well I knew that was a strong possibility so I wasn’t surprised. Peter excused himself for a while and went to check with the big guy himself. He was gone quite some time, but eventually he returned. Peter said my request was approved, but under a few conditions. First, I would have to carry a golden harp as a passport back into heaven. This harp could only be carried by a good soul so I couldn’t be replaced by a look alike demon. Second, I would have to return by midnight. God didn’t want me to face too much temptation. I agreed to these conditions and took the highway down to hell. (Nope n

So, my Dad and I were sitting down flipping through channels on our t.v. when we passed by a NASCAR race, which prompted my Dad to strike.

Dad: Hey LoadedBurrito, how do you lose a redneck in a car chase?

Me: How?

Dad: Turn right!