Oddly Enough Blog
News, but not the serious kind
So, Patti, we finally meet! I must say you look different from your Internet photo, but I guess everybody touches up their picture a little, don’t they?
May I say how nice your hair looks, even though, you know, it seems to be drawn on with a Magic Marker. Somebody did a great job of staying in the lines!
I ordered you shrimp scampi. It’s their specialty here, and… Oh. Allergic to garlic? Sorry.
Of course, we’d like to look good – we’re about being sassy, not slovenly, and we may run into some hunky guys in a male death squad. Any ideas? By the way, don’t even TRY finding out who we are!
- has the Mother of all Toothaches.
- shows how you can make a swell hat from toilet paper.
- is just learning to tie a turban.
- has a pathological fear of being killed freakishly, like Isadora Duncan.
Memo to design staff: In looking for new demographics for our haute couture, I have exciting news. This fall we’re going after the zombie market!
I know you’re saying, “But Bob, aren’t they kind of creepy?” Well, maybe, but our market research shows that zombies have lots of disposable income. They don’t have to pay for their food because, um, you know what they eat. And they don’t have to pay $4.00 a gallon for gasoline, because they just lurch around for free.
So there’s this celebrity chef, see, and he said in a magazine article that a plant called henbane makes an excellent addition to summertime meals.
It’s a great cooking tip, so long as you don’t mind hallucinations, convulsions, vomiting and occasionally death. The chef, Antony Worrall Thompson, apologized, explaining that he had confused henbane with another weed, called fat hen.
Huh? Oh, didn’t I mention we have routes over there? It gets pretty hot, and after a busy day they like their ice cream just as as much as anybody.
Who knew that furniture should have warning labels sort of like the ones they put on cigarettes? We have a story about a wife who was angry at her husband for being drunk and refusing to get up from their folding couch. She kicked the handle, activating the mechanism which, well, killed him.
When death happens, you like to think it won’t be in such an embarrassing way that some jerky humor blogger will use it. So how will they write this poor guy’s obit to retain some measure of dignity?
Here we are in Beirut, a city that has endured far more than its fair share of war and bloodshed, and we’re going to open a fast-food restaurant. What would be a good theme for it?
I know, how about war! We’ll draw on the natural connection between killing and eating! We can call it Buns and Guns, and we’ll put the tables behind sandbags. We’ll have war relics all over, and the chef can dress in camouflage! Our motto: A sandwich can kill you…