Love, Kristen: Filling In for the King of Slack

If we couldn't laugh, we'd all go insane.

“If we couldn’t laugh, we’d all go insane.” Jimmy Buffett

We’re well into June already. Seems like only yesterday we were freezing our posteriors and knee-deep in snow. Soon we’ll be complaining about the heat, seemingly never satisfied with one’s weather. Now that the small talk is out of the way, let’s get into the nitty-gritty.

Noticing Mike has been busy with his musical preoccupations and hasn’t been writing here much, I decided to stop in and take up the slack with a few jokes I remember from the old days in Comedy Corner, back when Slickster had his Web site.

A Twist on Philosophy:

    If you love something, set it free.
    If it comes back, it was and always will be yours.
    If it never returns, it was never yours to begin with.

    If it just sits in your living room, messes up your stuff, hogs the remote, eats your food, uses your telephone, takes your money, and never behaves as if you actually set it free in the first place, you either married it or gave birth to it.

I had to laugh, reading Mike’s prior entry about his ex-wife’s being the Queen of Nag, and his tweeting that she was a saint actually, called formally “Our Lady of Perpetual Nagging,” which brings me to the following nonsense:

    A man is at the bar and the bartender asks him if he wants another drink. The guy opens his coat and looks in his inner pocket and replies “Sure, I’ll have a bourbon on the rocks!”

    A short time later after the fellow had finished his drink, the bartender asks him again if he would like another libation. With that, he pulls open his jacket and looks in his inner pocket and says, “OK, give me a Jack and a beer.”

    The same scenario occurs for the next three drinks until finally the man refuses the bartender’s last offer. The barkeep wishes him a good night, but before the patron leaves, the barman asks his customer, “Why were you always looking in your jacket’s inner pocket each time while being asked for a drink?”

    “That’s where I keep a picture of my wife,” he said. “When she starts to look good, that’s when I know that I’ve had enough!”

Then there’s the woman who was applying for a job in a Florida lemon grove. She seemed evidently way too qualified for the job, prompting the employer to inquire, “Look Miss, have you any actual experience in picking lemons?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes. I’ve been divorced three times.”

How about a riddle?

    Once upon a time, a perfect man and a perfect woman met. After a perfect courtship, they had a perfect wedding. Their life together was, of course, perfect.

    One stormy Christmas Eve, this perfect couple was driving their perfect car (a Grand Caravan) along a winding road, when they noticed a snow-covered individual was seemingly disabled on the shoulder of the highway; his vehicle appeared to be stuck in a snow bank, completely covered over.

    Being the perfect couple, they stopped to help. Jumping Jehoshaphat, Santa Claus was the one in distress, standing alongside his sleigh and frostbitten reindeer, carry a huge bundle of toys.

    Not wanting to disappoint any children on the eve of Christmas, the perfect couple loaded Santa and his toys into their SUV. Soon they were driving along delivering the presents.

    Unfortunately, the driving conditions deteriorated. The perfect couple and Santa Claus had an accident as a result. Only one of them survived the fatal collision. Who was the survivor?

I’ll answer that at the end of this entry while you mull it over.

And lastly, here’s the latest on my garbage-mouthed, fifth-grade student, little Johnny Hatfield. He came up running into class first thing this morning and said a man on the sidewalk outside just got “knocked on his ass by Mr. Bentley’s dog.” That’s the owner of the auto-repair shop next-door to the school.

“Rectum,” I said, correcting the overwrought youngster’s vulgar choice of words.

“Wrecked him?” Johnny said. “Why it damned near killed him!” I wasn’t in the mood to play the heavy today, and let that one slide since no one else was in the classroom at the time.

OK, here’s the answer to the riddle:

    The perfect woman survived. She’s the only one who really existed in the first place. Everyone knows there is no Santa Claus and there is no such thing as a perfect man.

Happy Summer Solstice in advance, if I don’t stop in before then.



About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at
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