The proper response to a pun is an ursine growl, whether you can bear
the hulaBaloo, or it makes you want to cave. If the pun comes from
your cub, don’t let it give you hives. If it comes from your sweet
honey, just let it bee. If you friend Nate tells a pun, you might
through a few prickles his way, but then be polite and say, “Hi
burr Nate!”
Does a bear crap in the woods? I don’t know, but all the following
picture puns were crapped on FaceBook, and not a single one from my
paw…
(or my maul, for that matter.)
Pun humor didn't start with animals but they are now infected.
This might explain it.
Yeah, cows are now good humor intolerant.
And it's passed on to each generation.
Not surprisingly, domestic animals are afflicted.
Though some domestic animals are too smart for me to understand how.
But let's face it; we humans are the source of this infection.
It might have started with our mating rituals.
Which we pass on to our young.
It affects professions like criminology.
And medicine.
Which even spreads to non-animate objects.
Which in turn might affect politics.
Even the planet is shaped by it.
And energy as well.
And if you want to escape it - I'm afraid there's...
Then again - maybe it all started with the bears after all.
Now that all the basketball fans have stopped coming to my blog because Google seems to think that's what I write about, see? I guess I should return to what my regulars seem to like the best.
For me to shut up and show someone else's funny pictures.
Pictures of Peril
Yup
Just when you thought it was safe to return to the barn
Those shopping cart tenders have a mean streak.
Just don't send your friend down headfirst
Pictures of Seasons
This is why the early bird gets the worm, and the later bird gets to mate
Unfortunately - they don't call off work for pollen
Stupid is always in season
Word Play Pictures
The ones that don't text and fly
Another form of deadly cow kicking
Why don't we pay musicians the way we pay strippers?
Auto industry is clearly not keeping up with the tech sector
And Perspective
What are they saying about you in the boardroom?
Everything is Lucas
Cleanliness is a lonely business
That's the way the Canadians see us
There's always someone who has to top your bumper-sticker
And why does this make me feel better?
Speaking of feelings...
Here's a Young Robin Williams with a not-so-young Johnny Carson
As you can see by the title, this is the third installment of Chapter
L from Volition Man (available here.) You can read the first two
installments here and here2, or if you’re linkaphobic, I’ll tell
you.
Dirgan Voleman, a man with a superpower related to his relative
motivational strength is having a dream. Following a series of
telling personal images, he has landed on a dreamland dairy farm
where he is simultaneously a herd of 25 dairy cows, and a little girl
eating something disturbing.
Volition Man Chapter L (Part 3)
“Blecchk!” Dirgan murmured in his sleep.
Was this sanitary? It wasn’t milk he (she) was
eating, or cheese, or even yogurt. Dirgan didn’t like yogurt, but
at least that was food. This was curds and whey, or as Dirgan had
called it back when he (she) was a little boy – chunky milk.
The worst part was that he (she) was enjoying it.
Dirgan, who at that moment was conscious of being the
seventh cow from the left, looked up. It wasn’t a natural thing
for a cow to do, maybe that’s why the other twenty-four Dirgan cows
plus the Dirgan little girl missed it. Dirgan the seventh cow from
the left noticed a large spindly creature lowering itself from a
nearby tree. The creature had eight legs and the head of an old man.
It was coming down right beside Dirgan the little girl. Dirgan the
seventh cow from the left said, “Mooo!”
Dirgans one through six and eight through twenty-five
looked over at Dirgan the seventh cow from the left and wondered,
“What’s his (her) problem?”
Dirgan the little girl thought, with an annoying little-girl lisp,
“The cowth are rethtleth,” that is, until (he) she saw the huge
spider.
That’s when Dirgan the little girl wet him/her
self.
Every instinct in Dirgan the little girl demanded
that (s)he run away, but Dirgan had been through too many
motivational seminars to quail at the sight of a
hundred-and-fifty-pound spider.
“You’re not running away,” said the spider.
“I gueththth not,” said Dirgan the little girl
with an even more annoying little girl lisp.
“Good,” said the spider, “because I have some
things to tell you.”
Dirgan the little girl waited politely, though Dirgan
the seventh cow from the left ambled closer, thereby becoming the
second cow from the left, though in no way changing it’s (her)
(his) consciousness of being Dirgan the seventh cow from the left.
Dirgan the formerly and figuratively seventh cow from the left
strained to hear what the spider had to say.
“You see,” said the spider, “my name is Eschi
Evelite. We haven’t met formally, and I thought you should know
that I am the cause of much of the trouble that is going on in
Pollyville.”
This sounds like important stuff for Dirgan (the superhero, not the
cow or the little girl,) to know for we are already aware the Eschi
Evelite is a dangerous and evil man – well evil anyway – or more
correctly 93% evil.
Anyway, I hope Dirgan is paying attention (of course I know if he
is.) If you’d like to know, come back on Thursday for the
concluding post to Chapter L!
For no apparent reason my companion videos to Chapter L have been
vids of old Bill Cosby routines. Here’s another one.
Volition Man (available here) is the second book in my Genre Series.
I’ve been told by a friend and fellow writer that it doesn’t
completely suck.
Well – what more do you need to know?
This is the second installment of Chapter L. If you want to start
from the beginning, the first installment is here.
Chapter L Part Two
Dirgan fell asleep.
There wasn’t much happening for a while after that.
Then Dirgan’s eyeballs started moving rapidly. Inside Dirgan’s
brain, synapses fired and the similitude of music formed in his head.
The music sounded something like Turkey
in the Straw. Dirgan’s mouth
grimaced; he didn’t like that tune. The music changed to the theme
song from All in the Family.
That was better. Images began forming in Dirgan’s unconscious
mind. Spon Ghi, dressed in tuxedo and clown shoes, appeared on an
old vaudeville-type stage.
“Welcome to Dirgan Voleman’s dream,” said Spon
Ghi in a voice Dirgan had never heard him use before. It was an
enthusiastic voice, like you might imagine a game show host would
use… in Calcutta. “Our dream tonight is brought to you by Pepsi,
the cola you have to buy if you don’t like Coke.”
“Pepsi,” murmured Dirgan’s sleeping lips.
“Also by,” said Spon Ghi, “Jack’s Magical
Beans! Don’t have a cow, Man, get Jack’s Magical Beans.”
“The magical fruit,” murmured Dirgan’s lips.
Dagmar appeared on the stage with a giant cartoon
hammer with which she flattened Spon Ghi in one great, fluid-filled
splat. As she pulled the hammer up, Spon Ghi unfolded like an
accordion, soaking up his bodily fluids as his figure rose. Dagmar
and Spon Ghi repeated the process half a dozen times to raucous
laughter from an audience that appeared suddenly around Dirgan.
There was also a bag of popcorn in Dirgan’s hand.
“Popcorn,” murmured Dirgan.
A giant hook appeared from off-stage pulling Spon Ghi
and Dagmar off stage. Apparently it pulled Dirgan, too, because
suddenly he was in a space ship. He was flying near a Swiss cheese
moon. A dish and a spoon were seated behind him.
“Step on it, Man,” said the spoon. “They’re
gaining on us.”
The dish next to him just blushed. In the rearview
mirror, a cat and a laughing dog were in a sleigh pulled by assorted
dishes and cutlery. The cat was whipping on the utensils with a
violin bow.
Dirgan looked around for the cow. There had to be a
cow in a scene like this.
Suddenly there were lots of cows, and Dirgan seemed
to be one of them. No, he was all of them. Dirgan felt the grass
through a hundred cloven hooves, the digestive juices of twenty-five,
four-compartmented, stomachs, and the yearning of twenty-five udders,
with four teats each, needing to be milked.
But there was something else, and it made Dirgan a
little dizzy. Not only was he twenty-five cows, but he was also a
little girl sitting on a soft bag of wool and straw and spooning
curdled milk into his (her) mouth.
“Blecchk!” Dirgan murmured in his sleep.
Sorry about leaving you with a bad taste in your mouth. Who knows
what indignities await our hero? Come back Monday for part 3!
Last time I gave you a completely unrelated video by Bill Cosby. I
might as well make it a trend.
