Brother is so Funny

My older brother has kept me laughing my entire life. Today is no different. He called me and actually said, "I thought I'd give you something funny to write in your blog about your brother." He doesn't even have internet, and he wanted me to post about his incident.

This last week his cell phone quit. It happens, and like me, he really would rather chew nails than have to go get a new phone. The sales reps always try to talk us into 'upgrading' into a smart phone from the flip phones we currently use. For me, I did have smart phones once. I discovered not only was it too expensive, but the phones were smarter than we are. No thank you.

My brother went to his local cell phone store (we are the same network but I'm not endorsing the brand). They, of course, did not have an identical flip phone to the one that died so he chose another flip phone. It didn't hurt that it was the only one in the store. I've run into that myself, so I know what he was up against. The representative set it all up for him and he went on his way. Flash forward to the next day: brother is trying to take a nap. The house is completely locked up, the television is off, complete silence. All of the sudden he hears a voice calling, "Hello! Welcome...." that's when he quit listening and just went into action. He grabbed his trusty protection, a 9mm handgun, and goes after whomever has broken into his home. He sees no one, but then the voice calls out again. "Hello".

Spinning around, safety off, weapon cocked to fire, he nearly shot his "really nice television that was off and did nothing to deserve it." He heard it again. After about a minute he heard it again. "Hello, Welcome to ... network." His new phone was talking to him! Repeatedly!

After much swearing he grabbed the possessed cell phone, turned it off, and took it back. The manager reset the settings to not give verbal notifications and handed it back. Confident the problem was corrected, he handed it back. My brother set it on the counter and just stared at it.

"What are you doing?" the manager asked.

Holding up a finger, he replied, "Just wait for it."

Less than a minute later..."Hello, welcome to ...network." It had done its own reset, four times. The representative finally grabbed the phone and yanked the back off of it and removed the battery. He set it on the counter and backed away. He stared at my brother with a scared look. "What the hell was that?"

"I told you it was possessed!" my brother said.

"Well, we got another phone the same model as your old one, newer of course, over night. We'll just get you that one."

So far so good. No magic voice has haunted him from his cell phone. Ha!

Visit to Mars

“Honestly, I don’t know where you get that, Sharon,” Dr. Aires told his young assistant. She was an MIT graduate and could build just about anything he asked her to. Now she was arguing with him over a simple teleportation device.

“Dr. Aires, you know there is a moratorium on teleportation. The last time someone did it, that anyone is aware, they brought back an alien species and now it’s all over the ocean floor. The first time someone else saw that thing it scared the hell out of them.”

“Well, it’s not every day you see a jelly fish with colored chaser lights. The kids thought it was fascinating.”

“Well, be that as it may, we are mandated to cease all teleporting and I cannot in good conscience build a new device for which I may be arrested.”

“Sharon, you have been an excellent assistant and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the work you have done for me, but at this point, I must say good luck in your future endeavors. I’ll have a letter of reference for you in an hour. Pack up your desk.”

“You’re firing me?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “Your job is to build devices which I require to do my work so that I don’t have to. Since you don’t wish to do that, you no longer have a job.” He turned and picked up his office phone and called to security to escort Sharon out of the building as soon as her desk was cleared out with special emphasis that she was not to take anything with the company logo or files.

Sharon stalked out of the office. “Good luck finding someone else to build that thing,” she snarled over her shoulder.

Three weeks later Dr. Aires had his teleporter built using proprietary plans Sharon had started before the mandate to cease production of such devices went into effect. He tested it on a rabbit to see if he could get it to come back using a timer device he added to the rabbit’s harness which also had a tiny oxygen tank and hose that wrapped close to the animals nose. The apparatus looked very strange and the frightened animal did not like it attached to him. It returned an hour later nervously hopping about the examination table. Up to then the rabbit had been a docile animal not taken to being skittish as most rabbits were. Just the same, Dr. Aires was pleased that the animal had survived the return trip in one piece, albeit frightened, and prepared for a human trial with plans to study the animal later for long term ill effects.

Dr. Aires donned the device and the return timer set for four hours, checked his own oxygen tank and a protective suit. He set the machine and hit the send command.

Light-years away he appeared on Mars, dizzy and with blurred vision. He had a hard time balancing to stay standing and ended up falling over. He turned his oxygen tank up for a richer mix.  His vision cleared and he marveled at the red dust he stirred with every step he tried to take. His feet dragged across the powder with the added weight from being plunged into a different gravitational ratio from Earth. He smiled as he congratulated himself for being able to build the apparatus without Sharon's help and getting it to work successfully.

He kicked rocks and threw them to see how far they would go but his suit encumbered his movements and they only went a few feet. Suddenly he saw something emerge from the soil unlike anything he had ever seen. There was a rare puddle of what he could only deduce was water without testing it and the creature reached a straw-like appendage into the puddle and drew from its wet depths before disappearing once again into the red surface. Dr. Aires mouth fell open. He thought about trying to dig up the creature but then wondered if perhaps it was larger than what showed from beneath the surface or if there were more below where he couldn’t see them. He stood a little ways back and watched to see if it, or another, would come back for more water. One by one more than a dozen times he saw creatures of the same type appear out of the ground near the water source and drink and then submerge once again. They didn’t quite resemble an octopus, for they had narrower tentacles and they had no suction cups on those tentacles, and they lived below a dry surface, but they were pretty close, at least as far as he could see.

Suddenly the ground shook underneath his feet and he fell over onto a dune as one of the creatures fully emerged. To his horror it was almost twenty feet long and had what he could only perceive as a gaping mouth. It twisted around on the ground and then he felt the ground shake again as another emerged, and then another until there were at least a dozen. One turned its head in his direction, noticing him for the first time as it tangled with another of the beasts.  It let go of its companion and squirmed his direction. He tried to back away but knew at the rate it was moving, it would catch up to him at any moment, and then it let out a strange ear-piercing screech and the others turned in his direction as well. The fierceness of the sound it made was added by the others and then the ground shook as more of them emerged surrounding him.

Dr. Aires dared to glance down and reset his timer. What seemed like hours were only a few minutes until he arrived back in the lab. He was breathing hard, clutching at his chest and shook violently and then he smiled with relief, but then just as the rabbit had done, he fell down dead.

Fried Chicken

I heard the daily trivia question on an afternoon radio show asking what was one of the manly scent candles that rated in the top three. It reminded me of a humor piece I wrote a few years ago that I posted on Gather.com. Now for those of you who try to go to Gather, for some reason it isn't working on Firefox (which I use) but it does on Chrome (another one I use). I don't know if it works on Internet Explorer because every time I open it, my computer locks up and it does not matter which computer I use, so it's not a computer thing. At any rate, the piece was met with appreciative chuckles, so I thought I would re-run it here.

Fried Chicken

The other morning I had a very early appointment and I decided I would make a quick run by the grocery store for a few things afterwards.  The minute I opened the car door I was overtaken by the delightful and unmistakable scent of fried chicken.  I nearly forgot what it was I went to the store to get.  I went inside and somehow ended up at the deli counter.  The manager looked up at me expectantly.

“Isn’t it a little early for…”  I inhaled deeply and a dreamlike expression came over my face as I breathed out, ‘Fried Chicken?”  It was eight forty-five in the morning after all.

He laughed, of course, and asked if I’d like to buy some.  Of course I wanted to buy some, I wanted to buy it all and it must have been the equivalent of about three chickens.

Anyone who knows me knows I am from the Deep South.  Some odd twist fate has me living in Wisconsin.  I look for anything that reminds me of home.  Fried chicken should remind any true, died-in-the-wool southerner of home.  I remember walking home from Sunday morning church services and smelling the apple pies cooling by the windows and chicken frying for dinner.  God bless her, my mother can not fry chicken to save her life.  It’s almost un-American not to be able to do a good job frying chicken, but she, like many others with the same malady, is as patriotic as they come.  She just hasn’t got the patience for frying chicken.  She says it comes from having to come home from work and then make dinner for a large family in a short amount of time.  Until I was seven and went to Kentucky Fried Chicken for the first time I thought it was supposed to be black.  I almost wouldn’t eat it because I thought it was under-cooked!  After that first tasty bite it was difficult to get me to eat hers again.  And then years later she finally spills it- the truth behind the chicken.  She doesn’t like fried chicken.  Shock!!!  I wanted to take away her NASCAR memorabilia.  That’s just wrong. 

   

I have some ideas, however, for products involving the oh-so-tempting scent of fried chicken.  Everyone knows the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.  Well, the way to his stomach is through his nose.  If it doesn’t smell good, he’s not going to touch it.  Therefore all you single, but desperately seeking a husband, females out there, you need Parfum de Poulet Frit  (Fried Chicken Perfume.)  A little behind your ears and he’s yours for life.  Of course it might work a little too well and then you’ll just have to pick the one you like the best.   (Snicker, snicker) Then of course we have one for the Glade Company; you know, the ones who make all those scented candles.  There are all sorts of scents out there, not necessarily made by Glade.  I have seen (and smelled) French Vanilla, Pumpkin Pie Spice, Lavender, Gingerbread Cookie, Peppermint, and Fresh Apple Pie, just to name a few.  How about adding Fried Chicken scent to the mix?  Think about it…You want to impress someone with a great dinner but you just don’t have the time.  You go to the deli and pick up fried chicken with all the trimmings, an apple pie from the bakery, and then scented candles.  Go home, set the table, and place all the food into serving dishes (it would be tacky to use the deli containers- not to mention blow the illusion).  Get rid of the deli and bakery containers.  Light the candles- Fried Chicken Scent and Hot Apple Pie.  It fills the house with the scents of someone who has spent hours in the kitchen preparing a delicious meal.  They are extremely impressed with you and they never have to know the truth.  Works for me! 

The Lost Shoe

Sometimes a writing prompt can be a dangerous thing. I got one that said write in 500 words or less about someone walking home and finding a lost shoe, and then it had questions to answer (or not-the choice was ours), but if you know me, I thought, what if it was written from the point of view of the shoe!

No, I'm not on anything, I'm not drinking anything questionable; maybe there is just too much snow and it's affecting my brain. I don't know, but I got to laughing pretty hard as I wrote it and I hope you do too. I only got 400 words though, although you should feel sorry for the shoe by the end. So, here it is:

The Lost Shoe (from the point of view of the shoe):

Whoosh! Thump, thump, thump. The Nike sneaker bounced across the asphalt highway several times coming to a rest on its sole in the grassy area near the emergency lane, its strings dangling and shredded.

"Ouch! What the heck?" Shoe said. His eyelets scanned the area. Where's my twin? "Left! Left! Where are you?" He received no answer and sighed. Man, my tongue hurts, he thought. It tastes like dirt. I guess that's better than grimy, sweaty sock. Where am I? This doesn't look like a closet or a box.

The ground rumbled underneath his rubber cushioning. "What is that sound? Man, that's getting loud?" Vroom! He shook as a sudden wind battered him and he spun around and slid off the grass onto the pavement.

"Hot!" he yelled. "I think I've been recycled to hell." There it is again- that sound. He blew back onto the grassy edge. "That's better. Thanks, whatever you are."

An hour passed and shoe made the trip from pavement to grass several times. His laces were now in a knot as a result and wrapped around his tongue. "Well, thith is a fine meth. And it'th hot. I with I could thweat." That darn kid, He never ties my laces, he thought. I'll bet he stuck his feet out the window and went to sleep again. I knew it was awfully windy for some reason.

Suddenly he heard a louder rumble and the ground shook closer than before. Thump, thump. He flipped over and over several times and bounced off the bottom of something. "Owwww!" he said. "Hey, my tongue is untied. Great." Whoa, he thought as something picked him up.

"Hey look! I found a shoe?" he heard someone say. "What do suppose happened to guy wearing it?"

"Is there a foot attached?" Shoe heard another voice say.

"No," the first voice said slowly.

"Then don't worry about. It probably just blew off the guy's foot or maybe fell out of a box and off the back of a truck."

"I wonder if the other one is out here?"

"You are not wearing someone else's shoes," the second voice admonished. "Put it down."

"Hey, look over there! I wonder if I throw it, it will land in that pond?"

"No!" Shoe shouted as he was hurled through the air. He landed with a splash and sank slowly out of sight to the muddy bottom.

Want Gravy with That?

"He skipped out on another date? Really?" Karen looked at me questioningly from the lower stair on the fire escape. "How many times is this?"

"Four," I answered. "We used to go out on Friday and Saturday night, now just once a week." I fidgeted on my narrow stair trying not to knock my diet soda over while I unwrapped my sandwich. "I probably wouldn't mind if he just wouldn't make plans in the first place, and then change them on Thursday when it's too late make other plans."

"I think that may be by design," she said, stuffing a Frito in her mouth and crunching loudly. She swallowed and answered the question I hadn't even asked, but it was all over my face-'How do you know this?'

"My cousin told me he saw Brad over in Madison last weekend with another girl, and it isn't the first time."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.

"Well, he just told me this morning. It's some kind of guy code or something that they don't squeal on one another for two-timing." She drained her own can of soda and looked up at me, her eyes squinting against the noon sun. "What? This is the first I've had a chance to tell you."

Marguerite jumped in. "I can get my dad's car Saturday. Want to go to town and see if we can find him? I'll bet that's why he waits until the last minute to say anything; so you won't go to Madison and see him there."

I thought for minute. "Yes, I think I would, and I'm going to tell him I'm not going tomorrow with him either. I've heard of him running around before, a few times," I added, "And I am really sick of it."

So the plan was set. Marguerite, Karen and I would go to Madison and see if we could figure out where Brad was hanging out and nail him. Well, I don't know that I would confront them on the spot. Chances were that the poor girl didn't know anything about me. We lived in a tiny little town east of the county seat about twenty miles away from Madison and if she was from there, we didn't even go to the same school. If she was from here, she'd know all about it. There were only about two hundred students in our entire school and one tended to know who was dating whom. The bell rang. We stuffed our trash into our lunch bags, gave one another the high-five and went to our respective classes.

Saturday night we cruised around Madison. We stopped at the drive-in and got ice cream cones; mine was a twist. We were on a mission and needed to be alert. After adding a large non-diet soda to the mix, were very alert, or sugar high; I'm not sure which. We were giggling and pointing at everything and everything was funny. There was a dance-off in the parking lot of closed down restaurant and those kids were pitiful, but we were not so inclined to let them know or show them the err of their ways, probably because we wouldn't have looked any better.

We checked out the drive-in movie theater, but didn't go in; there wasn't any sense buying tickets to a movie we, one, had already seen, and two, wouldn't have stayed at if Brad wasn't there anyway. But we did know how long it lasted and when it started so we knew when to come back. Sure enough, when the movie turner out, there he was with a pretty little red-head practically helping him drive his truck. My eyes narrowed as he drove right on past without even noticing us.

"Bastard," Karen said.

"I agree," I said. "Now, how do we get the two-timing bastard back?"

"I don't know," Karen said, "But that's not who my cousin described Brad being with last night at the football game."

"Last night! He was supposed to go with me last night. I waited until right before school let out to tell him I couldn't make it."

"I guess he has a back up list," Marguerite said.

"I don't think that's helping," Karen said when I just glared at Marguerite. "Want to follow them?"

"Just a little ways," I said. "Then I want to go home and think."

We stopped across the park when we saw them pull off the street to a secluded area; at least they thought it was. The moon was full and we could see what they were up to, especially since we got out and followed on foot.

I didn't like what I saw at all.  Karen grabbed our hands and practically dragged us back to the car. I was shaking I was so mad. The truck windows were all steamed up by the time we got there.

"Why did you do that?" I asked Karen when we were going back towards home and I had found my voice again.

"Did you want to wait until it started rocking?" she asked.

She had a point. I might have crept up on them and took my pen knife to the tires – all four of them.

Monday didn't help matters. I made sure to avoid Brad. There were alternative routes to my classes that he wouldn't take and I knew all of them. He was fairly new to the area and didn't know his way around the building like I did. Apparently that didn't keep him from learning his way around the area though, because he sure knew where to find the girls.

Karen's cousin joined us for lunch on the fire escape. I sat and stared at Brad's truck which he parked next to the agriculture-slash-auto-shop building across from the gymnasium. I didn't even eat. "What's up with her?" Darryl asked.

"She saw Brad Saturday night with another girl and they were a little busy in the park," Karen told him.

"Yeah, he bragged about that at gym class. I thought he was just talking big. What do you know?"

"I know I'm going to get him back," I said. They all three looked at me. "Want to help?"

Darryl was the first to volunteer. "What do you want me to do?"

I smiled. "He's awfully proud of that damn truck. He is always fiddling with the engine."

"Yes, so?" Marguerite said.

"I have heard that if you block the tail pipe either the engine will get really screwed up or the tail pipe will blow, or the muffler. I don't really care which. It won't be cheap no matter what."

"How do you intend to do that?" Karen asked.

I told them my plan and by the end of lunch everyone had their part down. We would have to wait until the next day, but this was going to be good. That was the day he usually went into town for lunch. I smiled an evil genius sort of smile as I thought about it. My teacher tried to get me to tell him what was going through my mind since algebra wasn't that exciting and she knew it couldn't be the assignment. I just handed her my finished work without a word.

First break we were ready. Everyone produced a potato from their pockets, purses, and lunch bags. I scowled. They weren't very big, possibly not big enough to plug the tail pipe. We looked at each other as Darryl produced a Frisbee also. Someone started humming the theme to Mission Impossible; I'm not sure who, but we went with it.

"This may take more than one," I said. "These tators are pretty small."

We made our way to the gym and unceremoniously starting throwing the flying saucer, at least I did. They took turns catching- or should I say missing- the yellow plastic disc. I always managed to land it next to Brad's truck.

"It doesn't fit," Karen said. "They are too small."

"Well, could you get it out so another one could be put there? A bigger one maybe?" I asked.

"No, it went in too far and I couldn't get it out without looking obvious."

"Okay," Darryl said. "Then we'll just have to stuff them all in there."

"Will that work?" Marguerite asked.

"I don't know," I said with a shrug. "But I guess we'll find out." I handed mine off to Karen for another try. And one by one, they all went into the pipe.

We eyed one another. They weren't exactly hidden, but as long as he didn't walk around the back, and he usually just jumped right in and peeled out of the lot, he wouldn't notice. I snickered and we headed back to the main building to await the carnage at lunch time.

We sat on our usual stairs on the fire escape in full view of the 'show'. Barely nibbling on our lunches we waited for Brad to start his truck, or at least try. Nonchalant we weren't. He tried several times and that engine just would not turn over. It didn't blow anything, but it wouldn't start. Finally, one of his friends came out of the shop and raised the hood.

"Well, why don't we turn up the carburetor a little bit?" he shouted at Brad from underneath the hood. I almost spit my soda all over Karen as I started laughing. He monkeyed around with the carburetor a minute. He dropped the hood. "That should do it," he said. "Give her a whirl."

Brad turned the key and we waited almost breathlessly to see what would happen. It made a few valiant tries to start and then it finally did, but it sounded really bad. A minute later there was a loud explosion as potatoes shot out of that tail pipe like cannon. There were mashed potatoes all over the gym wall.

My mouth fell open. Marguerite whispered an expletive and added, "I think we made a potato gun." I shushed her.

The coach ran out of the building. He looked at the mess on the wall and the fragments of potato clinging to the tail pipe. "Well, son, looks like you really pissed somebody off. Get something and clean up that mess," he said as sternly as he could. The coach looked across the asphalt basketball court as us. There we were, Karen with her hands over her face covering her eyes, Marguerite the same but appearing to cover her ears, and me, covering my mouth to keep from laughing. He broke up laughing loudly, "Need some gravy with that?" and walked away as Brad stared at his potato covered exhaust pipe. He never once looked at us.

The coach strolled over to the fire escape. "Ladies," he said with a nod of his head. Then he winked, and with a whisper he said, "Next time use a bigger potato. You have to block the entire thing," and walked away.