Tag Archives: Funny

DRINK! … every time someone mentions “the chopping block” or “going home tonight”

DRINK HARDER! … whenever someone says it would suck to go home at this point in the competition

DRINK AGAIN! … every time there’s a montage of faces while dramatic music plays and no words are spoken nor actions taken

CHUG-A-LUG! … for shameless product placement

SLURP IT! … whenever you ask a co-worker about recent developments on this week’s such-and-such

BURP IT UP AND SWALLOW IT BACK DOWN! … when you feel sad when such-and-such loses and/or wins an Emmy

GARGLE IT! … when a person on the show says “it is what it is” or “it’s a game” or “I came to play”

QUAFF THAT SHIT! … whenever God is thanked for anything related to the events transpiring on this week’s such-and-such

DUNK YOUR FACE IN IT AND BLOW BUBBLES! … for use of the word “blindside”

HAVE A GLASS OF WATER! … whenever an insight into modern-day race relations or gender politics is made, because … damn! no one saw that coming!

PUMP YOUR OWN STOMACH! … whenever someone states winning such-and-such has been his or her “dream” for his or her “whole life”

PUMP YOUR NEIGHBOR’S SEPTIC TANK! … whenever the person talking about his or her “dream” has yet to reach the legal voting age

GO BACK TO THE STORE! … whenever you make it all the way through your DVR backlog, but hurry — you don’t have time to waste!

We’ve all been there. You’ve just turned the last page on a 1,200-page novel you’ve spent an emotional eternity reading, and you feel both relieved and like you’ll never be able to read again. Whether you liked the book or not, it’s never easy moving on. You’ve come to count on this tome and these characters. Your neural pathways think in the syntax of the writer. When you think back on these days, all you’ll remember is that during your lunchbreak and on the subway in the morning and as you were falling asleep at night, you were reading that book. Idioms and phrases repeated throughout the novel seem like your whole life. If you asked someone what he was doing back in the Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment or told your kid someday he’d sit the Iron Throne or asked a coworker, “Who is John Galt?”–all these questions and comments would be salient and apropos, because everyone in the world knows what a terrible surprise the scouring of the Shire is.

But no. Life goes on. Moby-Dick is not the only book about fish in the sea.

Remember that it’s okay to read different books. Perhaps the best thing to do is to have a quick fling with a short story or two, just to prove to yourself that there are other characters out there. Find a used copy of The Old Man in the Sea, rent a hotel room, and spend an hour reminding yourself what it was like to be an irresponsible teenager with a book report due in the morning.

Talk to others. Go to your book club meeting. The people there can help you learn from what you’ve read and understand how it all came about, pointing out the signs from the beginning of the book which foreshadowed events in the end. By analyzing the things you might have missed, you will become a better reader for that next novel.

Equally important, however: don’t obsess over it. Don’t go online and read every single post anyone’s ever made about the book. Don’t fight with people on the Internet who don’t “get” the book like you do. If you loved the book, you’ll hate to see it being torn apart by the likes of these idiots, and if you hated it you’ll hate to see it being praised when it’s a lowlife, bottom-feeding, piece of shit. But even so, you have to let it go. You have to move on.

Whether you go and mingle with new releases at a brick-and-mortar store or browse through descriptions on an online site, just get out there. Find something new to read. There are a lot of words out there. They’re waiting.

“The End” is not the end.

Ah, there is nothing like a random contest win to brighten a day!

Today, I won a Twitter contest over on Unshelved to design a vampire trap. The contest is a promotion for 32 Fangs, an upcoming vampire novel by David Wellington.

Because I had fun, and because Amanda got into it to and provided some hilarious entries herself, I’ve decided to round them up here for posterity. Check out the other winners and runners-up at the link above, otherwise, enjoy these, which were our entries:

1. Midnight marathon past the vamp nest, all runners hydrated thoroughly with holy water. (Winner.)

2. Vampires still gotta bathe. Have Father O’Helsing bless the reservoir supplying the water to Vamptown.

3. Play G Tom Mac’s “Cry Little Sister” at a carnival. Slayers standby. It is to vamps what “Shave and a Haircut” is to Toons. (My favorite of mine.)

4. Though my girlfriend says, “If it was a man vamp, a bloody booby. What’s better than that? Bloody boobies that’re hydrogen bombs.”

5. Girlfriend also recommends: “A trail of bloody tampons … leading to Kevin McAllister’s house.” (Contest judge gave this a nod as the grossest entry in a direct message. I think it’s obviously the best of all of these and am very proud of my girlfriend for being so disgustingly funny.)

Q. “I’m getting some strange errors on the home page.”
A. “I only need to know one thing: where … they … are!” [makes shooting gesture]

Q. “Topher, you got a second? Got some stuff I need to talk to you about.”
A. “Is this gonna be a daily standup, sir, or another bug-hunt?”

Q. “Meredith from marketing has some ideas about the site.”
A. “Yeah? Why don’t you put her in charge?!”

Q. [approaching new computer] “Is this your new server? Niiiiice!”
A. “Get away from her, you bitch!”

Q. “Sooo, um … what do you think it would take to fix these problems?”
A. “I say we take off, nuke the site from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.”

Dear all you insane children,

I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot (itself sort of funny; since I only have one, you might think that would make getting off on the wrong one more or less impossible–but these are just metaphors). Anyway, I can’t say it thrilled me when your parents died and left you in my care. Living paycheck to paycheck as I am, buying five used twin beds really tapped me out. I had to borrow against my wages for your morning gruel, nasty as it is, so please stop throwing it at the wall with such disgust. Sorry you find it difficult adjusting to my drafty shack and the nocturnal fumes rising off the bog. I’m sure we’d all rather be living in your parents’ mansion, but that’s been sold, the proceeds locked in a trust until you come of age, in order to safeguard a brighter future for yourselves.

Mind you, my future will likely be just as grim as my present and my past. I’m sure it’s no shock to you that my life was a sad story before I inherited five fussy children. Time was, I was one of the best wide receivers in the university. Had a beautiful girlfriend, too–a cheerleader! Then I shocked everyone, developed a rare form of diabetes that resulted in my having to have my leg amputated. So I lost a leg, a girlfriend, and a sweet future. Took a job as a custodian at the college where I used to be a star, started drinking a lot and avoiding everyone I used to know. Developed a staph infection, and bam! Get this hideous wart on my face! Life’s just awesome. I’m lucky I’m not a hunchback.

But, horrible as my life was, at least I didn’t have to worry about someone putting gasoline in my liquor bottles, or stirring laxatives and pureed ghost peppers into my milk. That I’ve sobered up lately is a good thing; that I’m about to get fired from my job because of all the stomach problems I’ve had is a bit less stellar.

But lately, my dear children, you’ve really taken it up a notch. I don’t know who gave you those asps you put in my bed, or how you managed to find the time to build that contraption of spikes that almost impaled me when I ran out to put out the fire you set in the garden, but you must know that the emergency room bill for the snake bites means it’s going to get even leaner around here. Plus, those tomatoes were really coming in nice. Thanks for ruining those, too.

It really is a shame. I like you all–even Janet, who seems to be quite a talented artist. I really enjoyed her painting of the castle before she set off the explosives hidden behind the canvas and blew half my face and all my hair off. It was truly the last great thing I saw with both my eyes, even if it did cost me one of them (just dumb luck the flames managed to miss the wart on my nose). Regardless, I hope she keeps going with her art.

As for the twins, Hector and Helen–you’re always good with a joke, even if it is at my expense. Such biting wit! I’m sure these mental wounds will heal in time, but a sense of humor is forever.

Little Susan, I wish you’d talk more. Sometimes in your sullen glower, I see a hint of understanding. Out of all your siblings, you seem the wisest.

And Jack, the oldest and fiercest–you are arrogant, to be sure, but that kind of confidence will take you places, even if all you choose to do with it is wield dangerous weapons. Take it from a former athlete, you’re a natural. The way you swung that mace at me yesterday made me reflect on what a great baseball player you’ll make someday.

Just, please, stop trying to kill me. I hope this letter helps you understand: I want the best for you. I hope — oh damn, here Jack comes with a shotgun pointed at me. This looks grim. Might be time to put down the pen.

If you should find this note soaked in blood under my body, just know — I tried, but maybe you really will be better in an orphanage.

Your uncle,


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Don’t miss out on an amazing room in what is being called by some as a “pretty nice place, as giant fucking factories go.”


The following piece was written over the weekend for a short story contest on Janet Reid’s blog, with the constraint that it had to be 100 words or less and use the words red, bent, fold, chaos, and chasm. While I did not win (maybe next time!), I’m quite pleased that I was mentioned as one of the stories which made her laugh.

Here’s the piece …

* * *

Toss me body off the mountain into the chasm. Say something foul about me before me pirate guts paint the rocks red! These be the wishes of your loving father, Arrrchibald!

“Always a force of chaos,” said the sheriff. “Whaddaya gonna do?”

“Fold the will back up, bury him like a normal person?”

“We already agreed.”


They walked to the pickup’s bed. The sheriff put an eyepatch on the body. Paul bent over the corpse, pressed a saw below the knee, and asked, “You think Dad’ll be the first CPA buried with a peg leg?”

“Just start sawing, brother.”