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It’s getting worser and worser and people are getting dumber and dumber.

How about those child-proof medicine bottles? What are you going to do about that second muscle relaxer pill?

Or those zippers on half-gallon ice cream containers? They never work!

Or why do you get that stuff on your hands when you open a can of tuna?

Or you visit your friend in a half-million dollar house and he tells you to jiggle that knob on the commode. Hundred and fifty year old technology-Can’t they get it right.

Ever try to open an new CD? You’ll need a hacksaw to take off the shrink wrap.

Or you go in a restaurant with you wife and the waiter says,”Two”—like the invisible man is with you.

And why do I have to dial 10 digits to call my neighbor on the telephone when four numbers used to do the trick?

Years ago, you had two gas pumps and two guys who would put the gas in your car, clean your windshield and check you tires. Now you have 21 pumps and you have to pump the gas yourself, go and stand in line inside the store until the guy with the stay eye says, “May I help, you”?

And they’ve changed a lot of the words: you don’t have and operation-you have a procedure; you ain’t got pain, you got discomfort. Even the finance company got in the game: They told me I was overextended; all I know’s I’m broke!

And now you got to pay $2.00 more for a cup of coffee you can’t pronounce!

And why does that clerk have to make 57 entries in the cash register when I buy a box of computer paper?

And now they got words I don’t even understand. Like Proactive-I thought that was something you put on when you were on a wild date. Or Facilitator-who comes up with this stuff!

And warning lables-before you know it, they’ll have warning lable on toothpicks!

I’m tell you, it’s getting worser and worser!

Gene Smith is a North American from West Virginia. He has written other stuff.

Earlier today I was driving behind a truck with one of those “How’s my driving?” stickers posted on it. Underneath the sticker, of course, was a phone number so that people can call. I decided that I’d like one of these stickers so that people in cars behind mine can initiate conversations about my driving. That’s because I’m an idiot and I think that most of the cars on the road have good drivers inside them…

Speaking of idiots, I’ve been tempted to call one of those dandelion-elimination companies I keep seeing commercials for on television. You know, the ones that sell some high-powered product that actually kills — yes, kills — all the dandelions on a lawn. My question is, are dandelions really that hard to kill without one of these products? I’m no powerhouse, but give me a few minutes to rip one out of the grass and I will do it like a real champion. In fact, rather than paying a company to do it, or buying a product, I think I might open my own solo business where I will come to people’s houses and start ripping out dandelions like there was no tomorrow…

And if there is a tomorrow, then I’m really in luck because that means that I can keep ripping out dandelions and charging people money for it…

Eventually, I wonder if there will ever come a time when it is officially noted that tomorrow doesn’t exist. At first that would be scary: most people would run all over trying to do things one final time, and saying goodbye to everyone before it is too late. I, on the other hand, would take at least an hour to make as many dinner reservations for tomorrow as possible. What’s the worst that could happen? There is a tomorrow after all and I have to end up eating a lot of meals. I can deal with that…

I think we’ll truly know there is no tomorrow when pop radio stations stop turning rock songs into dance tracks. This usually happens on the weekends, where I can’t surf the airwaves without hearing a great song butchered by an added drumbeat and a changed tempo. The worst is that there is no safe song, it seems — anything can be turned into dance. Until now. Here is a song I’d like to record for the sole reason of knowing it will never turn into a dance track or be played at proms:

Yeah, yeah, yeah, so this song stinks.

But it will never be a dance song.

Seriously, if you are listening to this and it’s dance,

You will instantly die.

This is no joke.

This better not be a dance song right now,

Or you will die.

And so will everyone else.

It’s a little sad, but the message is clear. That’s the same statement I made about writing a book with ice cubes…

But I digress.

Greg Gagliardi is a teacher and writer. His stream-of-consciousness weekly humor column, “Progressive Revelations,” has been ongoing since 1998. (http://www.ProgressiveRevelations.com)

How can diet failure be your fault? After all you can always find some reason to blame the other guy for just about anything; isn’t that our training? I mean look at the Donald Trump “You’re Fired” reality TV Show, simply blame it on the next guy. Even Donald Trump blames the other guy, for instance his shows ratings have drooped, but he says it is Martha Stewart’s fault, because her new show has stolen the viewers away.

Last night we were trying to figure out who is at fault that you are fat? You are fat because; McDonalds Hamburgers, Fries, Supersize and those Chocolate fudge Sundays or because you did not do enough crystal meth to stay thin? You see how people are so quick to blame. They blame their fast food restaurant in a court of law and their dealers for not cooking up the next batch fast enough?

I say, you people are not to be blamed for your Diet Failure or lack of exercise and I agree with you it is not Your Fault. I have a perfect diet plan. Move to Florida and then wait, a Big Massive Giant Hurricane will come, everyone will go buy gasoline to leave the state, but you will be too busy buying drugs and eating crap and then there will be no gasoline. So, you can run like hell to get away. And just think you can eat all you want, like a marathon runner, because you will be doing this five to seven times each year. I guarantee if you try to run away on foot from Hurricanes each year that you will lose so much weight that the Hurricane will blow you away. Think on this you pathetic human.

“Lance Winslow” - Online Think Tank forum board. If you have innovative thoughts and unique perspectives, come think with Lance; www.WorldThinkTank.net/wttbbs/

Hello porchers! I’ve been watching for y’all. Have a seat, and let’s chat. So, tell me, are you working on those New Years’ resolutions? Uh-huh, call me Miss Cleo, but I bet losing weight tops the list, right? My powers also tell me you’re gonna need some cash, that fat-free food’s expensive. But don’t worry, I’m here to help.~smile~

Have you heard? Folks are suing McDonald’s for making them fat! Yep, the same folks who pay good money to super-size have become super-sized and–get this–they’re surprised and angry. Although, it hasn’t gone to trial, I’m hearing that the plaintiffs have a good chance at winning and if they set a precedent, I think I have a good case against Zaps Potato Chips. For a small fee, you can join my lawsuit. Surely, you know about Zaps CrawTaters, Jalapeno Chips and Dill Pickle Chips–if not, run to the store and load up. You can thank me later.

But, back to my suit. Between long hours at work and longer lines at the mall, I’ve treated myself too many times lately. I mean, I deserved to ride home with a diet coke and some Zaps CrawTaters. The good news is that I looked, and there’s not a warning on the Zaps bag anywhere–not even a hint that consuming large quantities would make it hard to button my jeans. Seriously, I think they put something addictive in there! I’m trying to get a court order to look through their records. They should pay, don’t you think? ~smile~ Pass the CrawTaters…I need a fix.

Hugs, Shellie

Now then, those visitors already familiar with some of the other articles on the site will know that, yes, I found love last year, but it involved me taking on the role as step dad. I wasn’t really up for that, to be honest. It can be best summed up as: I fell in love but at a cost.

I was a bachelor boy and I don’t mean in the way that Sir Cliff ruddy Richard is. No, that’s just unnatural and deeply disturbing bachelorhood (!) I mean, I was one of the boys down the bar, shooting pool and giving my liver a nervous breakdown.

But, there we are, I was in love so a young boy and girl became my step-kids. To be honest, I’m young at heart. It’s an advantage. (I think the pickling of my liver weirdly also preserved my mind in a suspended perpetual youthful look on life. Pickled and preserved, I think they call it …)

It has been very hard for me at times, a whole new routine, but as I write this seven months have passed. And with those months, a certain acclimatisation has taken place.

I’d like to draw the reader’s attention to something that happened earlier today. We were all down the town, sorting out the shopping etc, when I noticed that there was a fete being held on the forecourt of the fire station. And as we moseyed over, it became apparent that kids were getting a ride round the block in one of the engines.

Well, I fairly dragged my step-kids into the queue, I was so excited. They were a little shaken but once I explained why I’d dislocated their shoulders they too got all excited. Almost as excited as me. Regrettably at 33, I had to wait behind, but as the engine pulled away, their faces beaming, I felt something deep inside and I couldn’t help but grin back. (I was tempted to hijack the ruddy thing and drive it myself, but there we are. It would have ended in tears.)

Times of change will inevitably be hard for us as humans but I have learnt to cherish these nuggets. Change gradually becomes no change at all but in the interim process, cherishing these nuggets, these moments, makes the transition far more digestible and fun.

My daddy always said that men are great with a shovel. My mammy always said that women are great at emotional issues. I say that men are pleasant pigs and women are pleasant pig observers.

Since I left high school, my opinions have been gradually changing. I used to think that boys were smelly but now I’m sure. I used to think that men are smellier versions of boys, but now I’m convinced. I used to think that dirty men were exceptional and now I know that they are exceptional; exceptionally smelly.

I used to read that pigs were actually clean, but now know that it was a myth, but also that it was a true statement, relative to men. Pigs grunt less, and tend not to piss on the toilet seat. Pigs tend not to deny where they piss either.

Please don’t get me wrong. I like men and one can become accustomed to any odour. It is the design and nature of the olfactory senses and is a preserving biological feature. If we must live with a smell, then it won’t affect us all the time!

If only the eyes had a similar feature, then we wouldn’t have to look at piss on the toilet seat, all the time. (I’ll see if I can construct something in the laboratory, to achieve this end. Watch out for my next article entitled “Artificial Blindness and Toilet Seat Technology”).

I will even attempt to invent a “pants-mounted” vacuum cleaner (without any special side effects), which might eliminate men from “the liquid exchange element” of toilets and their functions. However, I don’t envisage any device of mine, eliminating the “solids exchange” elements of toilet function. What I mean is that men still won’t flush the toilet after a dump! So while I might be able to induce some artificial blindness with respect to the piss, solids will still be in sight with respect to smell. And unless one was to designate the toilet as the primary living space within a structure (house, etc.), then any biological abilities to become accustomed to the smell of the “floaters” would be useless!

Oh, I’m not giving out, complaining, or anything, but these are just some of the technical issues that I’m presented with. And while my life is consumed with such effluent goals or subject matter, it is hardly a wonder that I don’t have time to date.

I would also like to introduce a caveat. If any of you ladies out there should know of any man with excellent toilet practises, then let me know. In any case, my email account is 60 Kilobytes in capacity, and I don’t expect it to be full. Ever! Unless of course, that some man decides to use it as a toilet!

Going a little further, if any lady out there knows of a pig that is unattached, then I will certainly consider such an option.

Sincerely, Tranni D’Electric technicaltoilettrials@thetrivialtimes.com

This latest poem actually came about when I was working on a commission for a client and my editor refused to let me get away with a line that rhymed “glove” and “love”.

That’s what editors are for, to catch us out in our moments of weakness and insanity when we try to get away with literary malfeasance.

She was right of course, but I decided I’d have my revenge, and here it is:

Rhymes With Love

Of all the problems poets face,

There’s one that stands in center place,

When it comes to push or shove,

The paucity of rhymes for love.

With every passing day and year,

It constantly grows more severe.

You need to talk about a dove,

Just so you have your rhyme for love.

The changing times and fashions too,

Have made this problem one to rue.

For instance who would have one glove?

That’s what you need to rhyme with love.

And if your grammar’s hit or miss,

A preposition gives you this:

The desperate, awkward phrasing of

A sentence just to rhyme with love.

Even politics joins in,

To spice it with a bit of sin,

Just mentioning New Jersey’s gov,

And there you have your rhyme for love.

When all else fails in crafting verse,

There’s some who go from bad to worse.

They call upon the Lord above,

To help them get that rhyme for love.

BROOKLYN, NY - It was discovered, last Monday, that a tree has grown in Brooklyn, NY. Amazed residents stared dumbfounded at the three-year-old sapling. Two girls discovered the North American Honey Birch (Honeyus Bircheus) on the way to school.

“At first I thought, like, it was just a tall weed,” Melissa Hanes, 15, said, “then I, like, looked closer and I realized it looked kinda, like, similar to a tree.” She explained they had just learnt about trees in social studies class. They were learning about different aspects of other cultures.

Her classmate, and fellow discoverer, Jessica Pone, 15, observed, “When Mrs.Salisky spoke about these really tall plants nobody believed her. We all thought it was a joke, like if she had said that, like, all GAP stores were closing down. It was just that unbelievable!”

They called the New York City Park’s Department. The whole department came down to marvel at the site.

“Sure we’ve seen trees in Queens and Staten Island, but in Brooklyn?” exclaimed Richard Seer, deputy commissioner of the Park’s Department. “We are petitioning that the site be declared a historical landmark.” Although this is generally given to historically significant sites, he believes that City Hall will overlook that requirement for this special discovery. Copyright 2005 Cy Yablonsky. Cy Yablonsky is an Associate Realtor with Othello Realty, you can visit Othello Realty at http://www.OthelloRealty.com. Feel free to reprint this article but you must include this paragraph and all links must be live and working, no changes can be made.

Inspiration for the articles I write does not always come instantly. That’s why I spend hours upon hours each day surfing the internet and visiting various websites. This may sound like time wasted or goofing off but I assure you that I am working. While some writers find that long walks or exercise help them to invoke the muse, I’ve found that cruising along through cyberspace with no particular place to go helps to stimulate that corner of my brain that holds great ideas. Sometimes when I need a little more stimulation I even go as far as drinking a few Bud Lights. The things I do to please my readers…

One of my favorite websites to visit when I’ve had a few beers is HotorNot.com. If you haven’t heard of HotorNot.com then I suggest you click over there real quick and check it out. I’m far too buzzed to go into a detailed description right now. I’ll pause while everyone clicks over. (PAUSE) Ok! Is everyone back? Good! And now that we all know what HotorNot.com is all about I can continue with my ranting.

I like HotorNot.com because it allows me to look at women without the risk of them calling me a ‘pervert’ or ‘freak’. In fact I can stare at the women on HotorNot.com as long as I want and none of them will call me a psychpath, or worse, call the police.

I also love the fact that I get to rate the women after I’ve finished oogling over them. Any man will tell you that this is basically what we do anyway. We look at a women and then we rate her in our heads. Of course our rating scale is not so much ‘from one to ten’ as it is ‘would I sleep with her or not’, but it’s essentially the same concept.

I hate the pictures of woman that have men in them as well. I find it hard to rate a women if she has her boyfriend standing there next to her. If I give her a 9 does that mean that he gets a 9 as well? I may not think that he is a 9. Not that I’m judging men. But then again maybe I am. I’m not gay or anything but I know an ugly man when I see one. But that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable rating them.

I finally got up the nerve to put my picture on HotorNot.com. Actually, it wasn’t so much getting up the nerve as it was getting up the money to get my picture developed onto a CD so that I could upload it. I’m an admitted cheapskate and even though it only cost $2.82 I still had to work the added expense into the budget. Now that my pictures online I wake up every morning and check my stats to see hat rating people are giving me. Today when I checked I was up to a 7.2! That means that I am hotter than 69% of the men on the site! At least that what it says on my statistics page. That means that for every 100 males that post their pctures on Hotornot.com only 31 of them can do as good as me in the looks department. I’ll be sure to bring that up at my 10 year high school reunion. Every one else may have great careers as doctors, lawyers, mystery shoppers, et cetera, but has all of cyberspace voted them into the ‘Top 35 Percentile of Hotness’. I think not.

You can click here: http://www.hotornot.com/r/?eid=ERELALO&key=HNY to rate my picture. However, I warn you that I have contacts in the Russian underworld and I’d hate to have to send the Gormanilov brothers after you because you gave me a 4 or below. I might be just a tad bit biased but I think I’m easily a 8. Then again that may just be the liquid stimulation talking…

Timothy Ward has decided to go on a hunger strike until his humor column, ‘I Never Said I Was Normal’, gets over 1000 subscribers. You can help to end his fast by visiting timward.1afm.com and signing up. Please hurry, his ribs are already showing.

Copyright The Quipping Queen 2005.

YO THERE QUIPPING QUEEN!

Or, who is that entourage of questionable quirky characters anyway?

By: Adrian Air-of-Sleet, Personal Secretary and Royal Biographer to Her Royal Majesty, Victoria Elizabeth, Quipping Queen and Empress of Eccentricity who is responsible for overseeing the day-to-day-affairs of state involving members of her eager-beaver entourage not to mention all the loyal lollygaggers puttering about in the Queendom of Quirks, Quidnuncs & Quagmires (situated in the little known but well-appointed “Pith n Vinegar Palace” on Dallas Road in beautiful downtown Victoria, British Columbia, Canada)

Much has been said about the Quipping Queen. A spate of bad press lately, (about the odd habits of the merry-making monarch), has led to a good deal of speculation about her state of mind.

To nip the nasty non compos mentis natterings in the bud, the Quipping Queen has asked me to set the record straight.

First, let me assure you that Her Royal Highness is of sound mind, body and spirit! Her only regret is that her loyal subjects often lack opportunities to tickle their funnybones, open Pandora’s box to see what’s inside, or crayon outside the lines in their coloring books.

Second, since she is in possession of her marbles, she has come up with a playful solution to a perplexing problem - the precipitous decline of fun and frolic in the Land of Quibbles and Querilulous Things Going-On or Running Amok.

To stem the flood of feisty complaints to her gates, she has come up with a plan dedicated to improving wit and wisdom in the Queendom. This plan known affectionately as “PUCK-UP”, will begin by putting an end to all “do-this-do-that” games in the royal realm, and then encouraging her seriously smile-impaired subjects to play cooperatively in “Sand Circles”.

It is hoped that the new learning centers will foster appreciation of the sands of time, assist participants to build sandcastles in the air effectively, and to understand the ancient philosophical notion that, “going around in circles is what life is all about”.

In response to a myriad of questions from journalists as to who will be responsible for leading this cutting-edge project, a spokesperson for the Ripsnorting Royal Court of the Quipping Queen, responded with alacrity, ardor and artistry.

He stated that this exemplary initiative would be undertaken by an assortment of incredibly clueless if not cockamamie characters who have volunteered to act as “Champions” and “facilitators” for this entertaining social-consciousness engagement.

The list of leading learned lights includes:

Arch-Duke of A-Very-Good-Time-Was-Had-By-All (Need we say more!)

Baron of Bunkum (The best source for dross and drivel in the queendom!)

Baroness of Baubles Bangles & Beads (She coordinates accessories for every occasion …especially those sparkly sequined spandex yoga outfits!)

Butler of Biscuits & Bottles (Known for his fine selection of premium-brand kibbles, nipples and vittles)

Count Can’t-You-See-I’m-Busy-Right-Now (His “to-do” list is a tad longer than the average dance card or grocery list)

Countess of Catnaps (Not known as a “snooze alarmist”, she is a welcome guest at every long and boring cocktail party)

Dame Do-You-Know-What-Time-It-Is? (A renowned Clockwatercher!)

Duke of Doorknobs (Applauded for his lively impression of a pet rock!)

Duchess of Dither (The Diva of Damsels-in-Distress)

Footman of Fetish Wear (Tan shoes and pink shoe laces are not his thing)

Grand Duke of Garter Belts, Glass Slippers & G-Strings (A gift-of-the-gab sort who operates exceptionally well “in a tight pinch”, “under-cover”, and “behind closed-doors”)

Groomsman of Grouses, Grouches, Grumps & Growing Pains (A great smile and stroke personality whose silver-tongue and silver spurs keep everyone in line — including cowboys who don’t know when to stop talking about the size of their spread)

Knight of The Testy Turntable (Operator of the 33 1/3 and 78 RPM minstrel music machine …known to have a mind of its own!)

Knight of It-Seemed-Like-A-Good-Idea-At-The-Time (A terrific connect-the-dots, fill-in-the-blanks and paint-by-numbers problem-solver)

Knight of Knock-Kneed Knickers (He has the finest selection of briefs, boxers, and BVDs for anatomically-challenged carpet knights of the realm!)

Knight of I’m-Sure-It-Was-There-Yesterday (A marvellous speciman of a memory-gene gone missing!)

Knight of When-Will-We-Get-There? (Note: There’s one of these in every band of merry men in search of Maid Marion, the Holy Grail and some bloke called “BOB”!)

Lord Leaping to Conclusions (Long jumps are definitely his speciality!)

Lady Looby-Loo (A wonderful water-closet waif if ever there was one!)

Lady-In-Waiting-of-Giggle Gear (No …she doesn’t own a dunce cap, but thank you for asking)

Prince Jeepers-Creepers I (Nothing gets past this lad!)

Prince Jolly-Bean II (He puts all those ordinary Mexican jumping beans to shame!)

Prince Jolly-Jodpurs V (The happy-go-lucky sort who adores riding a cockhorse to Banbury Cross just to test-drive his turbo-charged breeches)

Prince Jolly-Jump-Up IV (A truly clean, keen, yes-madame machine!)

Princess Jelly-Bean III (A jaunty jelly-belly aerobics instructor)

Princess Jiggle-Pot III (A scantily-clad sylph with fantastic fundraising capabilities)

Princess Jot-It-Down II (Not-your-average pencil-pushing pen-pal)

Sir Snuff & Such (Responsible for sniffing out stuff and nonsense in the nick of time)

Sir Harold Prickmedainty (Responsible for “Minor Medical Miracles” and sweeping the occasional medical malpractice suit under the table)

Valet I (A well-known “hanger-on” who supplies garb for gargoyles and gals plus celebrity-approved “Valiant & Vixen Togs for Titillating Types”)

Valet II (A Professional Putz who polishes booties and brogues for “Beautiful People”)

Viscount Don Juan Valentine (Responsible for drafting the Queen’s annual gushy greeting entitled, “Tips on How to Gird-Your-Loins Safely & Securily”, in order to allay concerns among all her romantically-inclined subjects, their squeamish parents not to mention a large constituency of early childhood educators, public health nurses, and pharmacists on the occasion of Cupid’s Visit to the realm every February 14th)

With all these robust if not ridiculous resources available, there is no doubt that the project will be an unbelievably huge success!

If not, Her Majesty, (Chief Executive officer, Chief Financial Officer, Chief Operating Officer and Grand Poobess of the Whole Shebang in the Queendom of Quirks, Quidnuncs and Quagmires), will simply hire some well-compensated consultants and self-promoting spin-doctors. Their task will be to revise the final, feel-good “Project Evaluation Report”, (to reflect a healthy, hokey, happily-ever-after story naturally.)

And last but not least, rest assured, the Queen will always find another worthy project to keep her courtiers contented and her subjects in a sportive frame of mind so they will not toss hanging flower pots about in the “City of Gardens”, nor frighten the horses pulling the tourist-trap carriages around town, and refrain from sticking ooey-gooey wads of bubble gum on the leather seats of the environmentally-friendly pedi-cabs blocking traffic in the downtown streets!

Hail the Queen of Quixotic Quandaries! May she, her ludicrous court, and her loopy subjects all enjoy much health, wealth and happiness! And as they say here, “When in doubt, chortle and chug-a-lug, ’cause tomorrow’s another day!”

About the Author

Adrian Air-of-Sleet, (when he’s not busy unlocking doors to royal closets in order to let the skeltons out), can be found fidgeting and quibbling over who has the best recipe for making crumpets in the Court of the Quipping Queen