Tag Archives: food

Do You Swear??

As far as I was concerned “yuck” was not a swear word, and I didn’t think that
tearing the label off an empty tin can created indecent exposure, but that was before
my alien friend KB-11.2, filled me in on the finer points of galactic decency.
Kaybe and I were having a soft drink together at The Enchantment, a dingy
roadhouse north of Letongaloosa. The Enchantment is the kind of joint that college towns
like Letongaloosa must have to qualify for academic accreditation.
My alien friend Kaybe isn’t one of those scary bug-eyed, green-skinned beings
that you see in sci-fi movies.. Kaybe looks like a giant tuna fish can. Erector Set® arms
sprout from the curved sides of his body, and three spindly metal legs drop from the flat
underside of his stainless steel torso. He has ball bearing wheels for feet. Three sensoreyes
wave at you from the ends of floppy antennae on the top of his lid.
No one at The Enchantment even raises an eyebrow when Kaybe rolls in and
joins me at one of the back booths. Customers are used to seeing unusual folks around
the place.
One night Kaybe and I were chatting in our favorite booth when Recycle Rick
came in carrying a big black garbage bag.. Rick picks up cans and bottles along the
highway. He starts in town and when he gets to the Enchantment he stops in to sort
everything. Then he mooches a ride back to town.
Rick is meticulous. He takes the items out of the big bag one by one, tidies them
up, and sorts them. Then he puts them into smaller plastic bags. He knows all the recycle
rules and regulations.
On the night in question, Recycle Rick came in and set up shop right across from
Kaybe and me. The first item he pulled from the bag was covered with mud. “Yuck,”
said Rick, and wiped away the mud .
“He shouldn’t swear like that,” said Kaybe.
“Yuck,” isn’t a swear word,” I said.
“It certainly is,” said Kaybe. “The Commission on Foul Communication has
banned that word throughout the galaxy. All it would take is a complaint from an alert
cosmic citizen and that guy’s communication license would be jerked, and he’d face a
seventy thousand mazimba fine.”
“Recycle Rick doesn’t have a communication license,” I said.
“Of course he has a communication license,” said Kaybe. “Everyone in the
galaxy has a communication license. Every word you say goes far beyond these walls.
Your words go out into space. Children on other planets could be listening.”
“So, if I say, @#$%^ and someone turns me in, I can be censured by the Galactic
Commission of Foul Communication?”
“No,” said Kaybe.
“Why not?”
“Because ‘@#$%^’ isn’t a swear word.”
“But ‘yuck’ is?”
“Yes, of course, everyone knows that.”
“I didn’t know that, and Recycle Rick certainly doesn’t. Mild mannered Rick
would never swear.”
Just then Rick pulled out an empty tomato juice can from his bag and began
ripping the label off.
Kaybe rotated away and lowered his antennae with their three sensor-eyes to
the table in a gesture of acute embarrassment.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“You saw that,” said Kaybe. “He stripped that tin can bare. It’s indecent. I can’t
look.”
“You can look now,” I said, “he put it in a sack. You’re weird.”
Kaybe raised his antennae from the table and winked at me with one of his three
sensor-eyes.”
“You’re jerking me around,” I said.
“Guilty as charged,” said Kaybe.
“So ‘yuck’ is not a swear word?”
“Not in this galaxy.”
“And there’s no Galactic Commission on Foul Communication?”
“Oh there is, but it doesn’t concern itself with words like ‘yuck.’ The Galactic
Commission on Foul Communication deals with such reprehensible terms as ‘federal
regulator,’ ‘plausible deniability,’ ‘social justice,’ ‘politically expedient solutions,’
‘federally mandated diversity,’ ‘combatant rendition,’ ‘enhanced interrogation
techniques,’ and the like.”
“People on Earth use those terms all the time and the Galactic Commission on
Foul Language has never done anything about it,” I said.
“You live on a third-world world,” said Kaybe. “The commission doesn’t waste its
efforts on backward planets like Earth.”
“Lucky for us,” I said.
“If you say so,” said Kaybe.”

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

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The Flower With the Thorns

My nephew in Boise forwarded the piece below to me.  It is funny enough to send along to you.

An elderly couple had dinner at another couple’s house, and after eating, the wives left the table and went into the kitchen.
The two gentlemen were talking, and one said, ‘Last night we went out to a new restaurant and it was really great. I would recommend it very highly.’
The other man said, ‘What is the name of the restaurant?’
The first man thought and thought and finally said, ‘What’s the name of that flower you give to someone you love? You know, the one that’s red and has thorns.’
‘Do you mean a rose?’

‘Yes, that’s the one,’ replied the man. He then turned towards the kitchen and yelled, ‘ Rose , what’s the name of that restaurant we went to last night?’

 

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

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Andrew Klees & the Gadget

After all these years, the Mob came back for the limo.  It gave my friend Andrew Klees another real scare.

Some time ago, Andy got himself in trouble with the Mob after he saved a fine old stretch limousine from salvage.  The limo had been damaged in a collision. A wrecker brought it to the auto shop where Andy worked, and Andy fell in love with the limo at first sight.

His boss said it would take too much time to repair the limo, but Andy intervened.  He is one of the best body and fender men in town. Andy knew he could restore the limo, so he paid the salvage fee and told the driver to tow it out to his place.

After Andy had repaired the limo, a couple of Mob enforcers showed up. They were looking for a “gadget” hidden in the limo’s passenger compartment. They wanted to take Andy for a “ride,” but they couldn’t start the limo. They ordered Andy to start it and  drive out to the country while they searched the passenger compartment.

After a few blocks Andy looked back. Both men were out cold.

“I put them to sleep,” said a melodious female voice that came from somewhere inside the dashboard.  “They are bad men. Take them to the police station.”   The police arrested the mobsters.

Andy drove his shiny stretch limousine all around the countryside. In the summer time, folks heard Andy and a woman’s voice singing as the limo rolled by but they never saw the woman.

Then the Mob showed up again.  This time it was a slick lawyer.  He drove up in a town car. The Mob lawyer introduced himself, and showed Andy a sheaf of documents. He said papers proved that the limo belonged to his clients, and that  Andy’s purchase was invalid.

The lawyer said his clients were willing to pay Andy a ‘finder’s fee’ in exchange for the limo, and produced a document that said Andy relinquished all claims.

“Just sign here,” said the Mob lawyer.

Andy didn’t know what to do, so he stalled for time.

“Let me sit in the limo for a minute,” he said.

“Give me the keys first ” said the lawyer.

Andy handed over the keys, then got into the driver’s seat and shut the door.

“What shall I do?”  He had never spoken to the limo first.  She had always spoken first.

“The Mob wants a gadget that’s hidden in the passenger compartment,” said the melodious voice from the dashboard.  “It’s a thumb drive that contains records of deals the old Mob boss made with crooked politicians.  Years ago his rivals sent the goons to get the gadget, but when they failed, the Mob boss let you keep the limo.  Now he died.  His Ivy League nephews took over and want the gadget, but they sent a lawyer after it instead of goons.”

The lawyer tapped on the window.  “Let’s go,” he said.  “Get out here and sign the papers.”

“What do I do now?” asked Andy.

“You let your lawyer handle it,” said the limo.

“I don’t have a lawyer,” said Andy.

“Of course you do,” said the limo.

Just then a car drove up.  A young woman with a briefcase got out.

“I’m Megan Street,” she said to the Mob lawyer.  “I represent Mr. Klees.  I assume you have your clients’ power of attorney.”

“I do,” said the Mob lawyer.

“Kindly step into the limo, Mr. Klees,” said the young woman.

Andy opened the door and climbed into the passenger compartment.  He saw black thumb drive on the back seat and picked it up. Andy climbed out of the limo and handed the thumb drive to the Mob lawyer.

The young woman laid the quit claim document on the hood of the limo. The Mob lawyer signed it, got into his town car, and drove away without a another

word.

“How can I ever thank you,” said Andy.

“You can take me to lunch,” said Megan.

 

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

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Sent From My…©

 

When you receive a message with a pretentious post-script  telling you that the sender was e-mailing you from a super-duper cell phone, you can reply with your own super-duper post script:

1.Sent from my 1943 Jack Armstrong Radio Show secret decoder ring.

2.Sent from my electrified chain link fence.

3.Sent from my Dog’s supper dish.

4.Sent from the drain spout on my Aunt Clara’s kitchen sink.

5.Sent from a cell phone I found in a dumpster behind Kelly’s Pizza Parlor.

6.Sent from my wife’s hair dryer. (from my girlfriend’s, from my boyfriend’s, from my grandpa’s hair dryer.)

 

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

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They Beam It Into Your Cortex ©

 

 

Back in 1994 somebody at the New York Times said:

Frankly I don’t give a tinker’s damn how we distribute our

information; I’ll be pleased to beam it to your cortex.”

 

I was standing at the heavily laden buffet table in Healthy Hanks

International House of Hash. It was All-You-Can-Eat-for-$4.95

night. I was loading my plate with a heaping helping of Hanks

Healthy Hash Browns™ when the beam hit my cortex.

A tiny green LED turned on inside my head. Then I heard a

“ding, ding.” It was the kind of sound your computer makes

when you receive an e-mail.

“Darn!” I said.

“What?” asked my wife. Emmaline was standing next to me

at Healthy Hanks buffet table. She was putting three baby

carrots, three pieces of broccoli, and a small slice of turkey on

her plate. Healthy Hank always makes money when Emmaline

comes to All-You-Can-Eat night.

“The New York Times has just beamed some information to

my cortex,” I said.

“Well just ignore it,” said Emmaline.

“I can’t. That little light they installed in my head is blinking,

and a little bell keeps going ‘ding, ding,’” I said.

“Can’t you turn it off until you finish eating?” asked Emmaline.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“They must not have perfected that part of the technology

yet. I guess they figured they’d perfect the cortex-beaming

technology first, and worry about customer reception issues

later.”

“Well why in the world did you sign up the service in the first

place?”

“It took fifteen years and cost the New York Times a billion

dollars to perfect cortex-beaming information technology,” I said.

“The least I could do was to subscribe to the service. With the

New York Times Cortex Beam Information System™ they beam

the latest news straight to my cortex,” I said.

“And I have to eat alone so that you can find out that Barack

Obama has just named Billy Crystal to be U.S. ambassador to

Botswana.”

“I’ll just step outside. I’ll be right back.”

“Go to the men’s room.”

“I might lose the signal.”

“@#$%^&,” said my wife. She rarely swears, but Emmaline

hates to eat alone. I headed out the door to download my

cortex-beamed information from the New York Times.

I walked toward Emmaline’s new car, a Lexus 300XTC.

Just as I started to activate New York Times beamed-to-my

cortex newsline, a gruff voice spoke behind me.

“Don’t turn around. I have a gun,” said the voice.

“Don’t shoot,” I said.

“Give me your wallet and the keys to your Lexus,” said the

voice.

“It’s not my Lexus,” I said.

“I saw you park,” said the voice. “Now give me the keys.”

“It’s my wife’s car. She’s back at the restaurant. I don’t have

the keys.”

“Jerk!” said the voice. Whack! There was a blow on the

head. I was out before I hit the asphalt.

When I woke up my pockets were turned inside out and my

wallet and watch were gone. I stood up. There was an eggsized

lump on my head. I was leaning against Emmaline’s car

when I noticed a little green light and heard a “ding, ding,” in my

head.

I made my way back to Healthy Hanks. Emmaline was

standing near the cash register tapping her foot.

“I got mugged,” I said. “They whacked me on the head and

took my wallet.”

“Oh darling,” said Emmaline, and hugged me.

The police came and I told them what happened. I refused

to go to the emergency room. My head ached, but I didn’t want

anyone to know I was seeing green lights and hearing “ding,

dings,” in my head. I was afraid they’d take me straight to the

booby hatch.

When we got home Emmaline asked, “Well, was the news

worth getting mugged for?”

“What news?” I asked

“The cortex-beamed information from the New York Times.

Was it important?”

“Bless you,” I shouted. “Bless your heart!”

I had forgotten about the cortex beam! What joy! They

wouldn’t drag me off to the booby hatch after all.

I activated the New York Times Cortex Beam Information

System™. It was a story on the latest developments in

hemorrhoid research.

 

 

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

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Pat & Pete Meet the President ©

 

When Pete and Pat took separate vacations last year, they had no idea they’d end up becoming a family of six—with four adopted kids.   And they certainly didn’t expect to visit the White House or that Pat would prepare lunch for the President.

Patrocina Megamecheldorf Zamborvich Jones and Pedro Salazar Remirez Sandoval Montoya y Montoya are known around town, for obvious reasons, simply as Pat and Pete. The two came to Letongaloosa years ago and became a couple after having been business rivals.  They got married, and, last year, adopted four children—a girl and boy from Korea and a boy and girl from Colombia.

Back before they become a couple, Pat wanted to buy the old Peabody home from the city and turn it into a pre-school. Pete wanted to make the place a pawn shop. After a notable public debate at city hall they ended up joining forces and sharing the facility. Together they created a unique business: Pat and Pete’s Pre-school and Pawn Shop.

Pat and Pete took separate vacations because the business associations to which they belonged had scheduled annual conventions at the very same time, but on different continents. Pete and Pat kissed each other at the airport and went their separate ways.

As the result of a mix-up Pete found himself in an orphanage in Seoul. Meantime Pat visited an orphanage in Cartagena. Pete met Min-ji, age eight, and her brother Hae-jin, six, and came home eager to adopt them both.   Pat fell in love with Hernando, age eight, and Maria, six, in Cartagena and hurried home with adoption on her mind.

The logistics of a four-child, two-country adoption process were daunting, but Pat and Pete kept their cool and just ploughed ahead. They got help from unexpected sources. In Washington, a Congresswoman helped smooth the way with the U.S. State Department. A Korean American businessman helped with the government in Seoul. Two adoption attorneys took the case pro bono. The couples’ professional organizations paid transportation costs for all the trips Pat and Pete had to make. A national hotel group gave them free meals and lodging in Cartagena and Seoul.

Back in Letongaloosa, Pat and Pete adjusted amazingly well to the shock of going from being just a married couple to being the parents of four lively pre-teens.

For their part, all the kids proved to be adaptable, resourceful and very bright.

 

They settled down to a quiet home and school life, and in less than a year, the Koreans were speaking Spanish, the Colombians were speaking Korean, and all four kids were speaking English without an accent.

The way things are in quiet little Letongaloosa, life for Pat and Pete and their four children might have flowed along unremarkably. But then a reporter for the local newspaper, the Argosy Herald Tribune Challenger Dispatch, found out about the family and decided to write a feature story about them. Because cross cultural news was “in” with the mass media at that time, her story was picked up by the wire services. The next thing they knew, Pete and Pat and the kids were invited to the White House for a visit.

In the Oval Office the children were introduced to the President. They had been well briefed, and they all got through the “I’m pleased to meet you Mr. President,” part just fine. Then out of the blue:

“Are we staying for lunch?” asked Hae-jin, now seven.

The President didn’t miss a beat. “What’s your favorite food?” he asked.

“My Mom makes the best caldo de camarones in the world,” said Hae-jin.

“Her veprova pecene, is better,” piped in Maria, also now seven.

Flustered and embarrassed, Pat opened her mouth to apologize.

But the President smiled and turned to his chief of staff. “Clark, please put Mrs. Montoya y Montoya-Zamborovich Jones in touch with the White House chef. We’re having homemade caldo de camarones and veprova pecene for lunch tomorrow.”

-30-

 

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

            

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Kaybe’s Cosmic Christmas ©

Over the years some of my columns have featured my robot friend KB11.2 (Kaybe) and other space aliens with whom I hang out at the Enchantment, a dingy roadhouse north of here.  I occurred to me that I’ve never introduced Kaybe’s family.   I’d like readers to get acquainted with them this holiday season in a  short story that is just “outta this world”!!

My Alien friend Kaybe looks like a giant tuna fish can. Erector Set arms sprout from the curved sides of his body. Three spindly legs drop from the flat underside of his stainless steel torso.  He has ball bearing wheels for feet, and three sensor-eyes wave at you from the ends of floppy antennae on the top his lid.

Kaybe  comes from  the Alpha Centauri star system. Many years ago on a visit to Earth,  Kaybe saved my marriage.  We have been friends ever since.  Kaybe communicates telepathically– his voice comes into your mind.  When we speak English, Kaybe sounds like CNN’s Anderson Cooper.  When we speak Spanish he sounds like the Mexican comedian Cantinflas.

We meet, as I said, in a back booth at the Enchantment where I spend quiet evenings sipping a soft drink.  No one at the Enchantment pays any attention when Kaybe rolls up to my booth.  Half the patrons are space aliens themselves, including the waitress, Four Finger Fannie, and customers Harry the Hulk and Miniature Mike.

Kaybe’s wife is named Zeeruba.  They’ve been married for many an earth year.  Zeeruba comes from Hebe, a minor planet in the Andromeda galaxy.  She chose to keep her maiden name rather than become “Mrs. 11.2.”.  Everyone calls her “Ms. Zee.”  Zee is as square as Kaybe is round, but she has the same kind of ball bearing wheels for feet, and the same three sensor eyes that wave at you from the ends of floppy antennae on top or her lid.

Hebians communicate differently from robots on Kaybe’s planet. Hebians communicate with a pleasant musical tone I can best describe as series of beeps that microwave ovens make to tell you that your Pop Tarts© are warm. A room full of chattering Hebians is a very tuneful place.

Kaybe met Zeeruba at a singles dance one night when Kaybe stopped by the planet Hebe on a trip through the Andromeda galaxy. The dance floor was crowded but none of the couples were robots. Zeeruba looked lonely standing at the edge of the dance floor. Kaybe rolled up and gave her a big telepathic “HI”. Hebians don’t receive telepathic messages, but Zeeruba, was happy to see a familiar robot shape, and beeped a happy greeting.

Attracted to each other, but unable to converse, the two looked around the dance floor for a translation station. The Galactic Supreme Council’s Polyglot Communication Committee provides translation stations on virtually all planets except Earth. Kaybe and Zeeruba found a nook with a translation station, ordered refreshments, and began to chat as if they had known each other a long time.

By the time the evening was over the two agreed to meet again soon. Over time their friendship blossomed into robotic love and they sought out a clergy-robot. They had an official diode exchange in a beautiful ceremony attended by their loved ones. After a gala galactic honeymoon, Kaybe and Zeeruba found a little place on Hebe and settled down and were very happy.

After a while Kaybe and Zeeruba decided it was time to start a family, so they went to the local hardware store and picked up what they needed.  A week later, Voila!  There was Kay-Ruba 11.3.  Everyone calls him Reebie.  Young  Reebie has some of Kaybe’s round features and some of Zeeruba’s square features, but young Reebie has four sensor eyes at the ends of the antennae that sprout from the top of his lid.  He communicates both telepathically like his dad and with beeps like his mom.  And boy, does he ever communicate!  Kaybe and Zeeruba are certainly not taciturn, but you’d think they were when Reebie is around—your mind is full of telepathic messages and the air is filled with beeps.  Reebie is very intelligent and he seeks inputs from all  the galaxies.  That’s how he came to learn about Christmas, here on our little planet in the Andromeda sector of the Milky Way galaxy.

“Hey Dad,” he said telepathically to Kaybe, and beeped to Zeeruba,  “I want to celebrate Christmas.”

And so it was that a few days before Christmas, Emmaline and I heard a knock at the door.  When we opened it, there stood Kaybe, Zeeruba and young Reebie  Their Erector set arms were loaded with bright, beautifully wrapped packages.  Some of the packages shone with a cosmic glow, while some others hummed, beeped or whistled quietly.   We invited them to stay at our house for the holidays.  After they got settled in, we all went down to the Enchantment for a soft drink.  A big holiday party was in full swing.  Four Finger Fannie took the night off from waiting tables and joined in the fun.  Miniature Mike and Harry the Hulk and the other space aliens welcomed us.  We sang (and beeped and telepathed, and in other ways communicated carols and songs of the holidays.  And, cliché or not, the phrase fits:  “A good time was had by all.” And that, in cosmic terms, is a great deal indeed.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Dr. Larry day is a retired J-School professor turned humor writer. His book, Day Dreaming: Tales From the Fourth Dementia is available for purchase via his website: http://www.daydreaming.co

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