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Thinking of You

Exchange out of context, passive-aggressive edition:

“Every time I hear a ‘Dumb Polack’ joke, I immediately think of you.”

“We have something in common! Every time I hear the opening bars of ‘Disco Inferno’ or ‘It’s Raining Men,’ I think back to when we went to watch your Dad ride that long pink float in the parade and your mom cried a lot.”

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Stool Pigeon Flushes Cheaters in Professional Poo Design Competition Doping Scandal

Talking shit with the kid:

“What other foods come out of your butt almost whole? I mean like peanuts do. And corn sometimes…”
“Some leafy foods make it out almost whole. You could probably expect that if you accidentally swallowed a penny, maybe. I’d suppose that tinsel might.”
“You could take an artsy poop if you planned it.”
“Like bedazzling your poo? ‘Hey, I’m going to eat rhinestones and poodazzle.’ If you gag on something, it would be ‘pukedazzle.’ Worst. Activity toy. Ever.”
“We could have a contest to see who can take the shiniest dump. Or puke up something that looks like a painting.”
“We’d need a lot of legal paperwork.”
“Paperwork! That’s funny.”
“We put a link to an Amazon store and sell peanuts and corn and marbles and sequins and other stuff, and then people mix it with their food and make poo. We’d make money… on BOTH ENDS! (awkward pause for laughter that never came) Then they post a picture, and people vote.”
“You could win a huge pack of toilet paper. Or breath mints.”
“There should be controversy… Maybe we find out that a contestant is doping with Ex-Lax… or they’re bulimic: ‘Hey, that makes you like semi-pro! DISQUALIFIED.’ The headlines read ‘Stool Pigeon Flushes Out Cheaters in Doping Scandal.'”
“This is starting to get weird.”

This little exchange gave me a great idea for a story (which I figured best to NOT share with the kid) about a school janitor who takes a new job at a strip club, and one night someone pukes, and he can’t find the sawdust or floor dry, so he uses glitter. I can probably milk that for about a hundred or so pages as an internal monologue (or even further should I explore the side stories of what led to the vomit spill – and away we go!), but it lacks a title. Feel free to discuss.

Two Lives Separated by Mere Letters

It’s not merely the spelling of their last names which provided for an incredibly diverse life for two gentlemen, but the careers of Smokey Yunick and Smokey Eunuch couldn’t have been any more different if they had planned them.

More Chins Than…

Let’s peek in on another family meal, shall we?

“You, uh, have something on one of your chins.”
“Here?”
“No… Go like nine lower.”

Ah, kids.

Discovering the beauty of typographical errors:

There are no re-writes, just magical redirections.

Consider the possibilities just waiting within a horror fiction series based entirely on the premise of one misspelled or mistyped word or name.

“That guy sure got his in the ned” isn’t just some transposition of letters… It becomes a terrifying third-person objective account of a nymphomaniac-necropheliac proctologist-gone-mad’s victim. Poor Ned.

 (Heck, switch some more letters around and he could play the nymphomanica, which might be a harmonica-like instrument crafted from an old marital aid. Bonus points if you pictured that. Triple-bonus if you manage to sleep tonight.*)
________

*All of this begs the question: How long do you hang on to something like a dildo? I mean ownership-wise. That other way, I’m certain falls to preference and technique and what have you… And upon further reflection, could you take something like that into a Things Remembered to have it engraved? This is a mighty can of worms, because now I’m wondering just what you’d have engraved on it? So many questions…
Ooh, that’s a good one right there:
“So Many Questions. Love Always, The Marketing Dept.” That, in a nice Papyrus font just says “timeless”. And that little abbreviation adds a layer to the joke. Bonus points for those of you who can come up with a great double entendre to have engraved instead.

Answering the Really Tough Questions

Comedy Club Manager: “Can you do three minutes?”
Me: “Some nights I’m done before the underwear comes off.”
Comedy Club Manager: “So then… Three minutes?”
Me: “Let me slip out of these undies, and I’ll be good for six or seven later on.”
*Blank stare*

Thank you. I’m here all week. Remember to tip your servers…

Fan Fiction: “Fury Load”

Quote out of context that bred a movie idea:

“If you you stop to think about it, there’s probably little more terrifying in the world than a wedge-style, tractor-pulling chassis lumbering at wide-open throttle toward your town… Even more so if it’s covered with the papier mache penis-shaped parade float body that the drivers of said machine stole from you on the last trek down the hill.

We could craft an entire sub-plot centered around the citizens forced to help push it back up the hill following the plundering. This is gold.”

Granted, it’s no remake or live-action version of a seventy year old animated classic… or even a trilogy based on a thirteen page short story, but with a few hundred million in CGI effects, this could be the blockbuster you need, even if you did nothing to deserve it.

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