Posts tagged with ‘humor writing’ include the following:
It’s a common misconception that flatus, the gas produced by bacterial fermentation in the colon, is simply methane. Flatus is so much more than that. It contains oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen—that simplest and most plentiful of molecules in the cosmos, and carbon—the molecule of life.
These elements were forged in the crucible of the big bang. They comprise the galaxies up at which we gaze with wonder and the lenses through which we gaze—the air we breathe. Each time we expel flatus, we’re releasing these elements back into the vastness from which they were gathered over the course of billions of years.
We are, all of us, made of fart stuff.
You like games? We got games!
Test your emotional resolve by listening to someone for whom you have feelings talk about their various love interests!
You like rides? We got rides!
No wait, you got rides! You get to give them rides to their dates with other people!
You like slides?
Watch your confidence slide away as the object of your hopeless affection tells you how it’s weird but you don’t count as a boy/girl to them.
You like ball pits?
Wrong! Nobody likes ball pits! They’re gross!
The more time you put in, the more tickets you get.
When you’ve got enough tickets, guess what you can cash them in for?
Nothing! That’s not how this works!
If your crush is a slinky or a box of glow in the dark ants, you are in luck!
Otherwise, your crush is a person and is not redeemable with tickets, you idiot!
Are you mad at your crush for bringing you to FriendZone?
Consider this: either you suck at hinting or your crush is an oblivious or cruel person.
Consider also that if you don’t like the rides or games, you can just leave. You are not helpless. You get to choose how you spend your time and resources.
Remember, No One’s Got A Gun To Your Head™
In 1996, Alan Sokal (an NYU physics professor) was fed up with the pervasive, waffly trend of postmodern deconstructionism in academia—of people like Derrida whose work is often riddled with circumlocution and false syllogisms and which aims to undermine the existence and importance of objective realities.
He submitted a deliberately nonsensical paper called ”Transgressing the Boundaries: Towards a Transformative Hermeneutics of Quantum Gravity” to an academic journal. And it was published.
Sokal describes it as "a pastiche of left-wing cant, fawning references, grandiose quotations, and outright nonsense…structured around the silliest quotations [by postmodernist academics] I could find about mathematics and physics."
Said Sokal, “Anyone who believes that the laws of physics are mere social conventions is invited to try transgressing those conventions from the windows of my apartment. I live on the twenty-first floor.”
2. I, Libertine
Jean Shepherd, the raconteur best known for A Christmas Story, had a long and fascinating career as an irreverent radio host. His prank came out of frustration, like Sokal’s—specifically with the way the New York Times Bestseller list was determined.
He claimed that if enough people simply requested a book from bookstores around the country, it would make the NTY Bestseller list. He asked his viewers to request I, Libertine by Fredrick R. Ewing—a book and an author that didn’t exist. They obeyed. And it made the New York Times Bestseller list.
In 2009, Microsoft CEO Steve Ballmer orchestrated the company’s most elaborate April Fool’s Day prank to date.
With competitors Google and Apple dwarfing the erstwhile top dog Microsoft corporation, Ballmer decided to engage in a little good-natured self-effacing fun.
Under his direction, Microsoft engineered and launched a search engine of their own—ostensibly in competition with Google—which they named Bing. And people actually used it.
Bing.com is still an active website—you can visit it and even use the functioning search engine.
The bag is pulled off your head and you find yourself on the poured concrete floor of a small, dank room with stained walls. Your hands are tied behind your back, so tight that the rope grates away skin every time you move. A group of men in the shadows speak to each other in a language you don’t recognize.
A single fluorescent light turns on, flickering weakly, throwing dingy green highlights into the room. A man enters and steps into the light—the men in the shadows fall silent. He stares at you, appraising you, then jabs you twice in the ribs with the butt of a rifle. You double over, gasping, and choke out “What do you want from me?”
The man’s lip curls into a sneer and he lowers his face until it’s right in front of yours. His breath makes you gag.
He asks you a question in the same language you heard the other men speaking. “I don’t—I don’t know what you’re saying,” you tell him, looking at his cheeks, his mustache—anything but his eyes.
He grabs your hair and pulls upward until you’re forced to meet his gaze and he repeats the phrase—this time you understand it.
A Conversation Between Myself And Ricky, My Childhood Best Friend Who Turned Out To Be A Robot Programmed By My Mother
WHAT’S UP? WHERE’S YOUR COAT?
YOUR RED WINTER COAT. YOU’RE GOING TO CATCH A COLD. YOU SHOULD WEAR YOUR COAT. I RIDE A SKATEBOARD.
when a store has its open sign up
and the lights are on
and the employees are milling about
it makes sense to try the door a few times
because sometimes doors stick
so would you kindly stop staring at me
as if I am an army of undead
trying to break down the door and feast
or an absentee father on Christmas Eve
desperate for the plastic robot that will win back his son’s love
or a mob of doomed faithless
pleading tearfully at the door of the Ark
as the thunder of an unforgiving god drowns out their voices
or a wretched aristocrat with one leg over the deck of the sinking Titanic
let’s say John Jacob Astor IV
explaining unctuously his wife’s ‘delicate condition’
as the final lifeboat is lowered into the inky sea
I am legit just trying to buy a Yankee Candle
Far Far Away sumitted by louis. it is so good I think we can all relate to this song
I think it’s time to come forward about what is arguably Emmy’s and my greatest collaborative achievement to date—a Shrek-specific otherkin blog that never caught on and for which I wrote and recorded two songs in fifteen minutes.
The character design of Garfield is heavily based on a racist caricature of a Tibetan man who delivered food—and often mean-spirited pranks—to Jim Davis. In an interview, Davis was reluctant to use the term “nemesis” but said “if I have one, it’s definitely Chodak. I sort of did Garfield at him.” Odie is based on Davis’ dog, Odie.
The Foosball (or “Fool’s Ball”) table, in Victorian times, included cut-out holes in the turf which framed the faces of crouching working-class who had upset members of the British aristocracy. This eventually led to the development of the “crouching class,” which inspired the Morlocks in H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine.
Franklin Pierce was the first Bi-Curious President.
I’m going as Astrology for Halloween—I’m just going to act let down when I find out my date is interested in me.
A guy who runs a spooky costume / makeup / prop shop and doesn’t know about Halloween is really excited that business is starting to pick up
"See, Miller? See? I told you, all it takes is patience and pride in your work to establish a thriving local business."
"Mr. Heigl, I think—"
"Miller, you were right about the name. ‘Heigl & Hyde’ flows better than ‘Jekyll & Heigl,’ I can admit that. But I was right when I said that eventually we’d be discovered; that if we stuck with it through the slow goings in the first few months we’d make it big. And would you just look at that line, Miller! An actual line!”
"Yes but Mr. Heigl—"
"Miller! Miller m’boy! I know—you want a raise. Right? Not another word. I’m doubling your salary. No—tripling!"
"That’s very generous of you, Mr. Heigl, but I don’t think we can afford—"
"Nonsense, lad! Look at the register! We’re positively drowning in clams! Things are going to be very different for us from now on. I’ve already phoned the Misses and told her to go ahead and buy that bureau she’s been coveting. Although I can’t imagine we’ll be in that apartment for too long now, not with me bringing home this kind of dough! I think it’s time to start looking for a bigger place; maybe something in the Regent."
"Mr. Heigl, I wouldn’t—"
"Miller, you’ve been a good employee. I appreciate your loyalty to me and to Heigl & Hyde. Why don’t you take the week—no, take the rest of the month off! I think we could both use a little vacation, and now that the people know we’re here and we have the costumes, wigs, and oversized plastic novelties that they crave, I think we can afford to keep ‘em waiting for a while. Let’s close up shop until, say, November the first."
"Sir I really don’t know if that’s—”
"Not another word, Miller, not a-no-ther word! Here, take this—got to be at least five hundred in cash. Go have yourself a night on the town. I’m going to go check the inventory and double the orders for everything for next month."
Heigl walks over to a shelf, opens a novelty monocle in blister packaging, dons it, and picks up a plastic tap-dancing cane. He whistles “We’re in the Money” and heads for the door.
"Oh and Miller—put up a sign that says ‘no candy.’ You wouldn’t believe how many people have come in here asking if we sell candy. I don’t know what on earth they’re playing at—it’s a costume shop, for pete’s sake, not a sweets shop."
Heigl exits, activating the plastic, motion-sensing grim reaper by the door, which lets out a tinny, high-pitched laugh as its eyes flicker orange.
Miller tries on an elvis wig.