No Such Thing As Fun for the Whole Family

Disclaimer- I absolutely adore my Grandma. She cracks me up with her stories and her complicated caring. That doesn't mean I always agree. Or don't see every reason to find humor in the situation. And pass it along to you. Enjoy!Of all of the blogging, posting, tweeting and smoke signaling I do, the commentary that gets the most feedback is always the stories of my family. I've been stopped by people I barely knew to tell me how hilarious the anecdotes are and been informed countless times I should start my own series of "Shit My Grandma Says".
I'd like to think it's because you identify. You find humor in my family because it resonates with your own families generation gaps.
I am willing to admit that it's actually because, much like a train wreck, you can't look away from the madness.
So for all of you- This one's for you.
This weekend was a 3-day celebration of my birth, or as some have been quick to point out, what a spoiled brat I am (Only child, only grandchild. It happens.). In one oh-so-distinct dinner, we covered everything you all love most about my family.
Let us recap:
1) Dinner was kicked off by the doling out of presents, which caught everyone off guard. Grandma had already been so generous as to buy me an iPad, a gift I was immensely grateful for, and am currently composing on. So when I was presented a box with my card, I was both confused and excited.
As it turns out, the present was a very pretty diamond and sapphire ring of Grandma's. It is undeniably gorgeous, albeit a little much for my taste. Non-the-less it was generous and sweet, and amusing only due to the commentary.
Grandma does not like that I wear a ring of mom's. She has actually told me as much. And with all she does for me, I should be wearing a ring of hers. Well OK.
The ring, although set in yellow gold, does vaguely resemble Princess Diana's engagement ring. Bought 20-some years before the royal jewel, grandma took every opportunity throughout the evening to point out how she had bested the royals, buying it well before them. Too bad the colonists didn't have Grandma. There wouldn't have been any American Revolution, just a nice dinner where the British were beaten over the head with their failures and ineptitudes, resulting in the British slinking away, wondering how they ever thought they could rule at all.
2) We went to Stables, one of my favorite Hautian stops, where they bring out bread before the salads along with some delicious butter and brushetta dipping combo. Knowing, and loving, me, you know that I immediately reach for a piece. This is the resulting conversation.
Grandma: You know, I saw a woman on TV that was 1,400 pounds.
Mom: Is that even possible?
(Insert me reaching for bread)
Grandma: Well, that's how it starts. (Motioning to me.)
Me: How what starts?
Grandma: Becoming the 1,400 pound woman. You eat too much bread.
I try to ignore her and begin talking to mom about a Dr. Oz segment I saw previewed where women gained lots of weight because there are fetish-ists who love really morbidly obese women. Apparently heart failure can prove to be a turn on.
But does Grandma let it go? Nope. While I won't bore you with the rest of my food choices, imagine this conversation on repeat, with everything else I eat. Later in the evening, Grandma asks Mom if I know that my butt has gotten bigger.
Lovely.
3) I'm a spinster.
Yep. Did you get the memo? Neither did I.
While some of you may not have been aware of this, 22 is in fact, less of a step, and more of a turning point. At 22, suddenly life is not all fun and games, but a sudden veer into the land of marriage and weddings and inevitably babies. And my lack of ring and acceptable mate is real cause for concern.
3.5) My spinster-ship is really my own fault, as I am making myself undesirable for any Grandma-suitable mate, what with my career, choice in friends, and desire to not be bossed around or told what to do/wear/say by a potential boyfriend. I am fairly certain, after listening to Grandma talk about said "ideal mate", I should be looking for a borderline abusive Richy Rich. She'd really like someone who will "Tell you what to do... You know, who will tell you what's best" and "Keep you in line."
4) This should probably be 3.75 or something. Whatever.
As it turns out, my love of gays is also a downfall. This resulted in a sort of confusing conversation but I think the logic goes as follows: Eligible bachelors are turned off by the very idea of tolerance. And my having male friends who don't want to sleep with me.
God love my mother, who pointed out to grandma that I myself wasn't gay, which would REALLY present a problem for me settling down with a nice boy. This only frustrated my grandmother who had not thought of this possibility... Yet.
At this point, Grandma told mom she was mocking her concern. FYI, Mom was.
5) I was wearing an ugly dress. I took I-70 home, when she wanted me to take 40. I didn't get in town soon enough. I drink alcohol (after this evening, wouldn't you?) which is just empty calories. I have a job that is hard to explain to people. I don't show her anything (I don't know what this even means). I will probably lose the ring she gave me.
So, let's just consider #5 miscellaneous things I've done wrong, OK?
It was really one of those evenings that encapsulated the crazy which makes us the Schaffer women. It demonstrated the generation gap (22 to marry? Really?) and the generational diluting of insanity that has occurred (thankfully) with each new Schaffer woman.
It also reinforced the sheer bewilderment grandma views my life with. She has no idea why I wouldn't want to get married to the first successful man I saw and live the rest of my life smiling happily on his arm as he bossed me around and kept me financially stable.
Can someone just explain to Grandma why this doesn't sound like a dream come true?

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Waging The War On Floor Boogers

I'm a Mr. Mom, and I'm proud of it! I'm retired from the rat race and live with a woman that has a teenage son. She works, he's in school, so it makes sense for me to do the domestic chores.Most of them I'm pretty good at. I'm a great cook, can clean fairly well, although my SO does bring her female fastidiousness into the equation, which is not always a bad thing. I am a male, after all, and on occasion I can lapse back into the Land Of Slobbinia. One thing I don't do much of is laundry. I know how to do it, but she prefers to do it her way, so I do the right thing and let her do it.
Some of the chores I like, some I don't. The one I really HATE the most is cleaning the floors. The big house we've got has no carpeting, which we both like. My allergies don't bother me nearly as much without carpeting, and with three cats, hardwood floors are easier to keep clean of the oodles of kitty hair that's shed. So most of the floor cleaning I do with either a mop for the tile floors in the kitchen and bathroom, or the pads on a stick that pick up all the dirt. You know, the one that uses the Blondie tune in their old ad, "One way, or another, I'm, gonna getcha,getcha, getcha, getcha!" A good sweeping with a regular broom to get the big gobs of cat hair and a once-over with the 'Getcha' and the floor's usually pretty clean. And it's not that I hate the chore so much. it's those nasty floor boogers that I hate.
You know what I'm talking about. Those stray pieces of lint, onion skin, toenail, paper, etc. that hide in the nooks, crannies and crevices of floor boards, tiles and mop boards. Those nasty flecks of whatever that won't pick up with a broom, mop or floor pad. Those devious, dirty little things that don't show up until you've emptied the mop water or put away the broom. Every single time I try to make a floor spotless, the little demons come out and thumb their noses at me.
I've tried sweeping, mopping, swiffering, vacuuming, everything short of a blowtorch to alleviate them. All to no avail. Oh, there may be fewer in number after my onslaught, but some always remain. Perhaps I'm just being too fussy. After all, a large expanse of floor clean enough to dine off of save for a few malignant floor boogers here and there isn't so bad. Is it? YES IT IS! Clean is clean, and if there's any floor boogers hanging around, IT AIN'T CLEAN!
So consider this essay a declaration of war, floor boogers! I do not know where you come from, but I know where I will send you! Down the drain, in the garbage, out of my door with the rest of the garbage! Your mission is to try and drive me to distraction, to make me 'break', to force me to let you live and prosper so you can take over the house! But it will not happen! I will NEVER break. I will NEVER give in. Fair warning, floor boogers! I play rough, and I play for keeps!
Visit http://essaysstories.blogspot.com/ for more essays and stories from my fevered brain.

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The Boy Scout Saga: Proof You Can Survive Childhood Shenanigans

When my brother and I joined the Boy Scouts, it was thought by everyone who knew us that this was a good thing. If only they had known how very wrong they were. We were far from innocent little boys, we went out of our way to stay out of trouble; in this endeavor, we were total failures. It was the going out of our way that caused most of the problems. We know because our family did not know a hair brush was used on the head, not on the butt. We received the back end of that brush so often, we checked ourselves daily to see if hair was growing. We finally succumbed to the fact hair would grow there someday, just not today.All our troubles began shortly after joining the scouts. Our troop decided to hike to the cities founding father memorial and gravesite. It was a beautiful summer morning when we gathered to begin our hike; a hike of about 5 miles through woods and along the railroad tracks.
We were enthusiastic about this hike because it would be our first chance to earn a coveted scouting badge, if we are correct, it would have been for cooking or backpacking.
We do not remember much about our scout leader or other fellow scouts other than there was about six of us on the hike. Once we got started, we soon found ourselves walking along the railroad tracks. We discovered a Hobo Town of cardboard dwellings scattered all along the tracks. In the late 1950's, this was not an uncommon site. As we passed through, we saw several Hobo's down by the river. They did not appear to be too happy about us tracking through their town and I really cannot blame them. We considered it was great fun to knock down and trample the cardboard boxes. Or, it was great fun until they started to chase after us. We escaped with nothing more than our pride tarnished at being run off and continued our hike to the memorial.
Along the river, the scenery was breathtaking. Upon arriving at the memorial, a first for us, we discovered it overlooked the river and we could see for quite a distance from the bluff upon which the memorial rested. There was a small log cabin about 200 years old, the original home of our founding father, and a field stone tower erected over the remains of this great man. Actually, even then, we thought it was a meager dedication and was not well kept. The grass all around was about knee high and very dry.
We decided as good scouts to clean up around the area, you know spruce things up a bit. We set to clearing away some of the grass only to discover this was not going to be an easy task, so we decided to clear some of the area by fire. The intention was good; the execution would soon prove disastrous. We have no idea who lit the match that set off one of the biggest grass fires in the county's history, but I always suspected my brother. In reliving the events, I only know it was not I and I promise the scar on my thumb and forefinger was caused when I tried to remove my finger prints.
We did however recognize we were in deep trouble and would in all probability get blamed. We were always guilty, if not directly, then by association. In this case it was most definitely by association. It was one of those facts of life we had come to accept.
As the situation quickly turned critical, all of us began to beat the fire with our shirts in a futile attempt to put it out. As the fire spread, the heat began to fan the flames even higher and increase the speed at which the grass was being consumed. We were worried, but also knew, burning the grass would cause no major problems, posed no threat to dwellings or life, and would eventually burn itself out. What we did not count on was what happened next.
That old cabin was dry and lit off as to say "this is not going to sit well with the city fathers." and it was right. When that cabin lit up, all bets were off as to our future. Even though the property was a mess and needed to be cleansed, you would have thought we burned their houses to the ground instead of one that belonged to a guy dead for 200 years.
As the fire grew completely out of control, sirens could be heard in the distance. Sirens were something we had some experience with from prior experience. These sirens belonged not only to the police but, more important, the fire department
The Fire Department did a fantastic job putting out the fire. We looked on the bright side, fire renews. I bet a month later, the monument was a beautiful site; the cabin was gone forever.
The City Fathers were beyond ticked off, they were livid. We knew this by how far the veins stuck out on necks; these veins were out there. They disbanded the troop; actually, they kicked us out of the Scouts. Shortly thereafter, we were place in an orphanage. We always believed we were put there because mom could not control our behavior and we needed to be in a place where we had direct supervision around the clock. As usual, we were right.
45 years later I returned to the site with my wife and mother. I do not believe my wife was sold when I told her the story of how we got kicked out of the Boy Scouts. Reality is a great sales tool. Upon the site of the cabin rests a plaque that reads, "Upon this site stood the original cabin of __________destroyed by fire in _____." Simple, effective and most important to me, there were no names listed. After reading the plaque, my mother said to my wife, "you just cannot make this stuff up."
This story actually occurred. Some of the facts may not be in the correct order of events and have been rearranged to not cause undue stress to others who were involved; names and dates have been removed to protect against litigation, and having matured over the years, my responsibility in writing this story is to protect the guilty.
No matter what you write, someone will love it.

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Sorry Tale of My Mustache

In India, a mustache is a sign of masculinity and virility. When Mahatma Gandhi took over the leadership of the freedom movement he advocated people to grow beards mainly to hurt the import of British blades and razors. Since Independence, mustaches of all kinds have regained their popularity and past glory. Today, India leads the world with maximum percentage of men sporting mustaches.As a school boy, before I grew a semblance of stubble, I thought of growing a fashionable mustache. I watched the grownups carefully and found many varieties: handle bar, walrus, pencil line, horse shoe, toothbrush, imperial, lampshade and several which defied description. Some looked awesome, and some, like the toothbrush Hitler trademark mush, looked downright silly and awful.
My father, tall and well-built but with a bare upper lip, had watched my interest in the matter and asked me, "I see you have a fancy for mustache, don't you?"
When I nodded my head he continued, "The relationship between the mustache and the wearer is too difficult for you to understand. Forget it, OK?" he thumped my back.
"Why don't you have one, Papa?"
"I didn't feel the need for one." He dismissed me.
For reasons I could not understand, I had felt a compelling need for one and watched films and photos of all my heroes of that period with particular interest.
Finally, I selected the broad and straight mustache of Clark Gable, one of my favorite heroes. I watched the mirror every day to see any perceptible presence of hair to indulge in my fancy.
The whiskers took their own sweet time to show up. Impatient and burning with rage, I yelled, "Come on, show up. I won't eat you up."
The fuzz, probably dormant, heard my shouting and showed up the very next day. I jumped in the bathroom and started meticulous planning to grow a mustache the way I wanted. I showed off the growth on my lip to my classmates and stood them a treat, but they showed no interest in the matter.
My happiness was short-lived as the whiskers took a long time before I could trim them to any shape. I wished I had some fertilizer to make them grow faster and taller.
After six months, when my father bought me a shaving set, I bought a pair of German scissors, known for their sharp edges, out of my pocket money and hid them in a drawer well beyond the reach of my parents and my elder brother who followed in my father's footsteps.
One fine day, when I had enough material to start my operation, I closed the bathroom door, trimmed the whiskers to a flat shape, smoothed the edges with singular care and made a neat line on top and at the bottom. Finally, I took out the photo of Clark Gable, compared the mustaches and smiled with satisfaction. I was not even half the size of my hero, but my mustache matched his, almost.
I had nourished the new whiskers with consummate care and took immense pride in them. I reveled when my classmates called me Gable and girls appreciated my taste and complimented me for my efforts. My mush won the admiration of everyone, except my elder brother, who instead of sharing my enthusiasm, paraded me in front of his buddies as if I were a circus animal. "Look, my brother thinks he is a cine star," he said and made me look like the town idiot. Since he outweighed me, I pocketed my pride. The more he made a mockery of my new acquisition, the more my resolve grew to keep it in excellent shape.
My relationship with my brother, cordial till then, had been ruined, and the chasm between us widened as we grew up. It continued till he finished college and left to join the civil service. While leaving home, he presented me with a new razor. "You better shave it off as you look like a clown," he said.
After his departure, I could indulge in my fancy without any let or hindrance and reveled in its growth and the attention of my schoolmates particularly the girls.
After college, I joined the navy which didn't permit a mustache without a beard. I hated to grow a beard as much as I hated to shave off my mustache. Left with no choice, I started to shave off the mustache. While I was halfway through, one of my seniors caught me and paraded me in front of everyone. It was part of the initiation process, a euphemism for ragging for new recruits, and I could do sweet little about it except to bear the indignity of going around with half a mustache. My seniors had a hearty laugh for the next two days and never gave me an opportunity to shave off the half left. When I finally said good-bye to my loving friend, I couldn't help shedding copious tears. Since then I had found my image was nothing much to look at and looked down on it.
When I was in my mid thirties, the navy had changed the regulations and permitted officers and men to grow mustaches. Like a man released after serving a long-term, I literally jumped with joy and renewed my association with my dear mustache. Unfortunately, my wife delivered an ultimatum. "You better choose between me and your mustache," she said in a stentorian voice.
"What's wrong?"
"The bristles hurt when you kiss me. Off with it," she said with finality. It was Hobson's choice, and I stayed with a clean upper lip for three decades until I arrived in Orlando and met Bill, a family friend of my children.
Bill, a tall, handsome fellow, had a most lustrous mouth growth- a handlebar mustache that looked immaculate and showed the immense care its owner had taken in its maintenance. At every opportune moment, he called himself as a sexually dynamic Mustached American living in Orlando, a city declared Mustache-friendly and encouraged people with stache passions.
"You see this handlebar," he said twirling his lip sweater. "In our club, we call it a hirsute appendage of the upper lip with graspable extremities."
While I admired his handlebar and its extremities, he continued, "I can't stand you guys with bare upper lip. In our club we think all bare lipped mortals as dimwits suffering from BULD a debilitating disease."
"What's this BULD?"
"It's Bare Upper Lip Disorder, terrible. We think these fellows are fit for treason and stratagems."
"Look, I've been with bare lips for four decades."
"I wonder how you survived in this world, and I'm sure you missed out on women," he said.
Bill, an authority on all lip sweaters, soup strainers and mouth umbrellas, had shown me pictures of people with different varieties of mustaches and explained at length how the Mustached Americans are growing in clout and influence. He had also shown me videos which depicted some charlatans masquerading as Mustached Americans for various reasons.
"I want you to watch this video clip. 'Occupy your upper lip' movement is gaining strength in Chicago."
He had informed me of the American Mustache Institute and advised me to start a mush and compete for the award in memory of Robert Goulet. "You have a sense of humor if not a voice like his," he said.
"But I'm not an American."
"No matter, this year the award has gone to a Canadian and soon it will be an international award," he assured me.
It was a Eureka moment I was waiting for, and I brooked no further opposition from my wife and children.

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Laugh Your Gas Off

As a lifelong learner, I have earned several degrees and certificates on the university level, ranging from aerospace to writing. Consequently, I regularly receive college catalogs and course notices in the mail, obviously seeking my business.I recently noticed, however, how subjects vary according to school and age. At my local university, for instance, the majors targeted at young people not surprisingly run the gamut from accounting to physics, while the Senior Education Department of my high school offers more age-appropriate subjects, such as "Controlling Your Blood Pressure," "Deleting Diarrhea," and "Don't Be Gullible Because of that Gas."
While walking into one of the classrooms one evening, a stooped man turned his head to the teacher, who inquired, "Which class are you here for, sir?"
Continuing to walk toward the nearest desk without verbally responding to her, he released a fart-filled explosion, whereupon she pointed to the seat. "Sit down! You're in the right place," she told him.
Another man, emitting guttural gurgles ordinarily known as "burps," was redirected. "That class meets down the hall," she informed him.
I can only imagine what the graduation must sound like, when 25 of them gather in one spot-right outside the bathroom door!
Before the school had been remodeled two years ago, it had served as the chemistry lab's gas chamber. Apparently, it reverted to its original purpose, but the "No Smoking" sign had remained valid throughout.
However, all of these old students were here for another reason, subconscious though that may have been to them, and it all had to do with how times had changed from their childhood school years.
These gas-promoting classes, always held in rooms with abundant-and open-windows, represent radical departures from the earlier days when students declined certain courses, despite needing them for graduation, because of duration alone: they were simply unable to hold a fart that long.
If they had dared take them, they were always the most visible. While the rest of the class attempted to focus on the professor's lecture and diligently took notes to prepare themselves for that all-important exam, the fart-holders strained and contorted to keep their gas from escaping, their stomachs emitting an endless series of moans, cramps, protests, gurgles, bubbles, and puffs. Pounding their buttocks deep into their wooden seats, as if they could borough their bottoms into them, they strained not for the purpose of passing that all-important exam, but instead for the purpose of not passing that all-important, stink-to-high-Heaven gas.
Lurching and squirming as they prayed for the bell to ring, they would bore and bang that butt into their potty pot of a perch, turning beat-red in the face as that fart-building air pocket rose through their bodies into their cheeks (the freckled ones looked like they had suddenly broken out with sizzling measles), desperately penetrating any hole-nose, mouth, or ears-for escape, before reversing its path. Now a bowel- and butt-bound bubble, it grew in size at an alarming rate of expansion, coursing back down the body like a heat-seeking missile.
But it always got its way and won, escaping in effervescent eruption, barreling through that last, but helpless, anal orifice like a bullet train plunging through a tunnel. Rumbling, thundering, and releasing a bombarding blast, which rose to the room's ceiling, the escaped bomb left a brown ooze, which laced the air like reeking rot. So penetrating was it, in fact, that it was still detectable by the eighth period.
A whiff alone told you who had been in the classroom that day. Who needed DNA for identification? To sniff them was to know them.
And you wondered why the school had implemented a strictly no-smoking policy and refused to remove its wall-lined asbestos.
Like the aftershock of an earthquake, the major explosion was always followed by a trail of smaller, but possibly smellier machine gun-fired fart-toots-yes, little, puny, but pungent pockets, which packed enough punch to eat away at the student's wooden chair like acid.
As the surrounding students, one by one, were wrenched away from their note-scribbling, they hopelessly try to shield and stop the odorous onslaught plunging up their nostrils like swords with every imaginable method: hand, pinched fingers, tissue, handkerchief, scarf, cork, and oversized paper clip amid moans, sighs, coughs, and virtual vomit. Even the teacher passed out once!
Oh, were the lone farters visible! But as wretched as it was, every one of those fellow classmates, without uttering a single word, was eternally grateful that it had not been a diarrhea day.
Nothing could be said; these were polite and discreet times. These were the conservative days-pretend not to see, let alone smell, what could not have more obvious.
Yes, they were unbelievably visible and I would not have wanted to be them for all the antacid medication in the world. But, in retrospect, weren't we all at some time?
Today, everything has changed. Nothing is ever held back. Today, young farts have become old farts and, with a new-found freedom, it is all they can do to refrain from simultaneously releasing their gaseous guts in class, producing, in the process, a cocky cacophony of sound and stench. Your clothes are so imbedded with it that they could retell the tale through the nose alone. All this facilitates a relieving release, which early school years had repressed, resulting in psychological damage that even Sigmund Freud could not have reversed. But the school had, acknowledging changing social conditions.
Why had they all taken this class? So that each and every one of them, subconscious though it may have been to them, could make one last attempt very late in life here in the school of old farts to fulfill that desirous dream never realized in their youthful days of graduating at the top of their gas-I mean "class!" Every one of them had been that lone farter many decades ago. You know it was you and you know you belong here.
And that, in essence, is what these Senior Education Department courses held at the local high school are really all about-classes of asses passing gases, freely farting and finally relieved of that lifelong shame which changing times no longer create. And, for the first time, they release something other than farts: they release laughter, the same laughter they had feared that all their surrounding classmates had desperately wanted to, but which conservative times had otherwise discouraged. For the first time in their lives, they are actually able to laugh their ass of as they laugh their gas off.
Which leaves me to wonder: how is the burping group doing down the hall...?

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Learning How To Be Able To Come Up With Riddle Answers Consistently Is Not Easy

If you happen to be one of those kinds of people who enjoys testing themselves, then you should really get a big kick out of learning how to come up with riddle answers. But, before your start, let us warn you that it is not easy or quick to become really accomplished in this highly appealing pursuit.It will take you quite a long time, and a great deal of practice, even just to get to the point where it is quick for you to figure out easy riddles. As for the real brain teasers, the most difficult of all riddles, some people have been trying to solve them their entire lives and still cannot get as many right answers as they would like.
Learning how to solve tricky riddles is not only a great deal of fun, but your time will fly by once you get into the sport. It will force you to think harder than you ever have in your entire life about just a couple of sentences. A very nice benefit to working on riddles is that it keeps your mind sharp, and your wit just as good as ever.
When you first start, you are going to need to learn some of the tried and true methods for coming up with their answers. One of the first things that you will learn very quickly, is that your need to slow down your usual reading speed, and read each and every word in each one very carefully.
Next, you will want to read the riddle over and over before you start thinking about a possible answer. Every riddle has a set number of words, and almost all of those words could have been replaced by another word. When you are able to figure out why the author of the riddle used the exact words that they did, this when you will start coming up with some answers very quickly.
There are many different types of riddles, and you only want to advance to the hard riddles, after you are feeling good about yourself. The more time you spend practicing, the better you will get at it. After a while, without you even realizing it, you will start to develop your own style and techniques for coming up with the answers.
Once you master the hard ones, you will want to move on to the next level, which are tricky riddles. With these, there are all kinds of mind games going on that the writer is trying to use to fool you completely. They are going to send you off in one direction, but it will be the wrong way. They are trying to force you to retrace your steps and get on the right path, if you ever want to even get just one answer.
Don't worry though, coming up with riddle answers for even the most difficult of them will eventually come to you. When this finally happens, you will find that it was well worth your time and effort.
Are the Riddles you're used to solving a little too easy for you? If so, I suggest you check out our newer and harder Riddle List online at iRiddles.org, where they are much harder.

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Workers Of The World, Untie!

Hopefully, The Leftists Will Keep Sparring With Each OtherMaybe the reason a community organizer could rise to the highest office in the land is that, well, the leftist community has always been in great need of organization. The trouble with socialism, as Maggie Thatcher said, is that you eventually run out of other people's money... but the trouble with socialists seems to be that they can't ever agree on which of them is best suited for totalitarian leadership of the Utopia they envision.
"We want to soak the rich!" cries one faction. "No, WE want to soak the rich!" cries the other. "But, we'll give their money to noble causes!" goes Faction One. "Nuh-uh, WE will give their money to much MORE noble causes!" goes Faction Two. "Oh yeah?" goes Faction One, "Well, we'll totally take ALL of the money from the rich, and give it to poor people, who will only have to work part-time in air-conditioned comfort!" "So?" goes Faction Two, "We'll serve breakfast in bed to everyone, nobody'll have to work at all, and those millionaires and billionaires will pay for it!"
Factions Three through Seventy-Four, meanwhile, are having their own squabbles... though some of them are in the rest room at Starbucks and unavailable for comment.
Eventually, they have to solve it by force: see National Socialists versus Communists, Germany, early twentieth century. But before they get out the guns, it's all the sort of good clean fun you see at any Occupy X gathering, Comedy Central writers' session, or university faculty meeting. Who's the most liberal? Who's heart bleeds bluest? Who's got the real secret sauce for "radical transformation" of the U.S., and the world? As long as nobody's busy working, or trying to run a business, or perpetrating other such crazy "Republican" capers, there's plenty of time for this entertaining Battle of the Arm Bands (until somebody puts out an eye).
You'll like this: Recently, some television producers (they're in charge of imprinting leftist themes in your family's minds after supper and all weekend) ran afoul of some Occupiers (they're in charge of shouting those leftist themes on the streets downtown, so nobody can hear on the telephone). Seems they were attempting to shoot a scene in downtown New York - with a permit, and everything - which depicted the Occupiers in a way they (the Occupiers) didn't like. The two factions squabbled, of course, with the end result being the revocation of the producers' permit and cancellation of the episode.
Dang! We'll never know what that show would've been like! But we do know how the "show" turned out in Germany all those years ago. Heh heh heh. Enjoy it, America! Enjoy the current comedy portion of the show! Now, THAT's entertainment.
by Michael D. Hume, M.S.
Michael Hume is a speaker, writer, and consultant specializing in helping people maximize their potential and enjoy inspiring lives. As part of his inspirational leadership mission, he coaches executives and leaders in growing their personal sense of well-being through wealth creation and management, along with personal vitality.
Michael and his wife, Kathryn, divide their time between homes in California and Colorado. They are very proud of their offspring, who grew up to include a homemaker, a rock star, a service talent, and a television expert. Two grandchildren also warm their hearts! Visit Michael's web site at http://michaelhume.net/

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The Rise of the Comedy Podcast

Long, long ago (maybe eight months) my friend Adam introduced me to a great new way to while away the hours - the comedy podcast. Now, I find this new pastime racing up the ranks my geek hierarchy, nipping at the heels of such unassailable giants as videogames and cartoons. So, what the heck happened? I've never been much of a fan of talk radio, aside from a love/hate relationship with NPR during some long commutes. Moreover, I've really never been more than a casual fan of standup comedy. So... lately, it has struck me as kinda odd how much time I've been spending with standup comedians. And that's the feeling. The podcasts that really draw me in feel more like having intimate talks with friends than hearing a performance. What I'm learning seems to be that some of the most irreverent people in show business can also be the most sincere, the most vulnerable, the most genuine. All of which, is a refreshing change of pace for the entertainment industry.Oh, also they're hilarious.
For me, it all started with Never Not Funny, the Jimmy Pardo podcast. That was my gateway podcast. I listened to a few episodes with Adam, then I bought a few individual episodes, and before I knew it I was buying up back seasons. Now, I've listened to hundreds of episodes and every Monday morning I'm excited for new content. Never Not Funny is engaging on a lot of levels. Again, it's hilarious, but it's more than that. The show often veers toward the personal, especially towards the self-identified faults and insecurities of the host. What I'm learning is that some- maybe most -of the best comedy is born from a variety of personal issues. (Ok... maybe I already had some inkling of that.) There is some real artistry to finding the funny in all of this sincere introspection, but Jimmy Pardo and Matt Belknap (the producer and co-host) are real masters of coaxing the humor out of any topic. Plus, they're just good company.
Some of my other favorites these days are WTF with Marc Maron, Paul F. Tompkins' Pod F. Tomkast, and Walking the Room with Dave Anthony and Greg Behrendt. WTF is a little more introspective than silly. The Pod F. Tomkast is more silly than introspective. And Walking the Room... is often a little more manic than anything else.
Ah well, I guess I'm doomed to add comedy nerd to my other nerd credentials. Don't worry other nerd-loves; there's room in my heart for one more. On a related note, comedy podcasts and videogames are two great things that go great together. Try it. You'll see.

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Kiss Me - Im Italian!

"Kiss Me, I'm Italian" - that's what it said on the matching t-shirts that were colored red, green, and white (Italian flag colors) that my Ma made my twin brother Tony and I wear to school one day! This wasn't in kindergarten either, it was in fifth grade! Tony saved the day when he beat up a couple of geeks and stole their shirts for us to wear! I'll never forget... That was just one little gem from my adolescence, being from the family I am from. Let me explain: growing up Baffilini is not as infamous as growing up Gotti or Soprano, but is has a certain quality all its own. It seems to me, that I was born into a family where really none of us are what you would call "normal". When I was growing up, one place we absolutely loved to go was Coney Island. My favorite ride was the bumper cars and you know, one day I realized how much they reminded me of my family: each one going their own way and trying to bump into the others to agitate them! I will show you what I am talking about; let me start at the beginning, well sort of...I was born in Brooklyn in 1973 with a twin brother, Tony who I mentioned earlier. Most of my memories are from the eighties. Back then I wanted to be Madonna. I used to dress like her, sing and record myself and even had my Cabbage Patch Doll dressed just like her! My parents lived in a tiny apartment above a 24 hr. Laundromat in Bensonhurst. Pops worked as a barber and Ma as a part-time hairstylist. When Tony and I were five, Ma had another baby, our little brother Bruno. I think Bruno was allergic to nearly everything from the day he was born. It seems there wasn't anything that didn't make him either sneeze, get a rash, or puke! He peed the bed a lot too and had asthma. Tony and I treated him so meanly back then, we ditched him all the time, but he found a way to exact his revenge on us-sticking boogers to all our stuff! Nasty!
Pops was an orphan, but Ma's family lived over in Middle Village, Queens. My grandparents Nonno and Nonna we called them, ran an Italian bakery. They were immigrants who had arrived in New York shortly after they were married from Genoa, Italy. Ma had two younger siblings: Rosa and Anthony. You may have picked up that that is where she got my and Tony's name from, or in other words she named us after them, we Italians love to honor family by naming children after relatives. Nonno was a sweet, jolly man who loved everyone and everyone loved him, Ma was his favorite. Nonna on the other hand was a spry little woman who was suspicious of everyone; she loved Bruno though because he was a "true Bonzerelli" she said. Bonzerelli was their last name. Nonna hated Pops and Pops hated Nonna, and it had been that way since the day they met. Rosa was only about 5 years older than Tony and I were and always full of attitude. She was jealous of everyone, especially her younger brother Anthony who Nonna simply worshiped.
Anthony was the only son and the youngest child so he got away with murder. He was only about 2 years older than Tony and I. He was good-looking I guess, he always reminded me of Ralph Macchio in the Karate Kid and was slender, whereas Ma and Rosa have always been on the heavy side, well actually Tony, Bruno, Pops and Myself also fit into that description-I guess that's the downside of Italian food-all those carbs! Anthony drove us nuts though, because ever since we were little he would do something naughty and set it up so Tony and I would get blamed for it. Nonna bought his act hook, line and sinker too! She was always sort of jaded towards Tony and I and would always say "Anthony is a good boy, he's going to be a priest some day!" A devout Catholic, Nonna already had her son's future planned. Little did she know though, that Anthony had a whole secret life. Let's just say Uncle Anthony had more than one family that he had ties to...if you get what I mean.
In 1984, a sad thing happened: Nonno died from a heart attack. Nonna decided she could not run the bakery by herself so it was put up for sale. The money from its sale was divided between Ma, Rosa and Anthony. This left us with a bit of a windfall so Ma talked Pops into buying a house. We moved into what turned out to be a former drug dealer's house and it was conveniently located right around the corner from where Nonna lived in Queens. This drove Pops around the bend because it meant she would be stopping by on a daily basis to insult him which she always managed to do; her favorite line was "You ruined my daughter's life!" I think Pops wished she was in the ground instead of Nonno!
It seems like the more time went on, the more weird stuff happened in our family. We were not exactly the Ingalls, let's put it that way! Everything was bizarre in my life at that time: my school, my teachers, our neighbors, and our whole family dynamic in general. Some of the highlights include Rosa marrying a Rastafarian, Anthony becoming a teenaged father and having mob ties(like I hinted at earlier) and the reappearance of Pops' long lost father, who married guess who?-the widowed Nonna! Oh yeah, and Ma ended up having another baby, my little sister Barettta who was born on exactly the same day as my cousin Angie, who is Anthony's daughter. I feel like I was raised in the circus! This is why I have decided to start to chronicle my formative years, because when I think back, it is really funny. I have begun to write a blog about "growing up Baffilini" as a humorous tribute to my family and the eighties in general, you can check it out at http://baffilinifamily.blogspot.com. Hope to see you there, ciao!
Rosalie Baffilini is an Italian-American freelance writer who also works in advertising. She is a native New Yorker with a very interesting family life. She has begun to chronicle the adventures of her wacky family in her blog, "Ahh...That's My Familly...The Baffilinis", where she tells her story of growing up in Queens during the 80s. Check out her hilarious blog at http://baffilinifamily.blogspot.com/.

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There Are Easy Riddles, Hard Riddles And Those Difficult Brain Teasers

Today, thanks to those little evil writers that are always trying to mess with your mind, there are all kinds of riddles. When you first start working on them, you want to begin with the easy riddles. After you are able to come up with the answers to them rather quickly, then it is suggested that you move onto the hard riddles. Unless you ever become an expert in the activity, you might just as well stay away from the brain teasers though, because they can drive you crazy.There are many reasons that so many people all over the world get their kicks daily working on riddles. First, it is challenging. In fact, some people say it is the most difficult thing that they have ever done in their entire lives. Second, it keeps your mind sharp. When you are forced to concentrate on something so deeply that you forget about everything else, it helps your brain to improve its capacity.
There are many people that are utterly fantastic at solving tricky riddles. They were able to get so good, because they have been practicing it for so long. In addition, they have taught themselves all the skills required to become a successful riddle solver. They also, after many years of working on it, have created their own style and techniques that help them greatly.
If you ever have a chance to speak to one of these people, you will quickly understand why they are so good at solving riddles. They always totally love what they are doing, and will talk to you for hours about why they appreciate it so much.
If you are nice to them, and are willing to sit and listen to their war stories for hours on end, they might even pass along a few helpful tips. Each and every one of them will tell you that learning how to read a riddle is an art form of its own.
You will quickly learn that if you ever hope to get good at it, you will need to read them very slowly. Next, you will need to read them over and over, before you ever try and come up with an answer. The specialist will tell you, that they try and get into the writers head, and figure out where they are attempting to lead them. They want to know that, because it will be the wrong way, and more than likely the correct path, will be totally in the opposite direction.
Make sure you start with the easy riddles. Only after you are quickly coming up with the correct answers, should you move on to the hard riddles. As for the brain teasers, well that is a completely different category all together and very few people ever get good enough to take them down all of the time. Of course, you can try them if you want to, but do not be surprised when you are failing much more than you are succeeding.
Are the Riddles you're used to solving a little too easy for you? If so, I suggest you check out our newer and harder Riddle List online at iRiddles.org, where they are much harder.

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Playing With Prefixes

"Upskill to fast track your career" the tagline in the newspaper ad said. That started it. Upskill! What a word! If there can be a word like 'upskill', why not 'downskill' to describe a case where somebody has forgotten previously learned skills.Then, similarly, since you have 'uplift' you should also have 'downlift' to describe the opposite of uplift. Do you agree? It has to be 'downlift', because, 'updrop' sounds more ridiculous. That's unless, of course, you opt for 'downdrop'.
And you must either diverge or converge, but not remain on the verge.
Sign, resign, design, and redesign. These four words can literally turn your world upside down. First you sign something. Fine! When you put your signature to the same document once again, as if to indicate your firm resolve to stand by what you have signed earlier, as for example, that cheque you wrote in my favour, it should be said that you have resigned the cheque. But if you withdraw your signature, it should be called design. But, now tell me what I should do with redesign. This re and de together will send any computer program in an unending loop!
When you are touring and are required to take a detour, I recommend that you take a retour at the end of the detour; if you want to continue your original tour.
You encircle something when you sort of draw a circle around something, right? Now, if you erase that circle, should we say that you decircled it?
You understand something the other person has said or something you have read. What exactly is happening when you overstand something? Are you understanding more than what is being said or what the print says - reading between the lines, as it were?
Like you underplay or downplay something not very flattering, shouldn't you overplay or upplay and call it advertisement or sales pitch?
Undercut and overcut are clear enough, but what would a sidecut be like? Sounds like a left or right abdominal incision to me, really!
The first thing is to take action. Do something. Don't worry if it is not right, for Microsoft has got it all correctly figured out. If it is not right, just undo it. Then reconsider it and redo it. Simple. There are buttons for that and they work. That's why Nike says 'just do it' (leave the rest to MS!).
Some people, whom we don't like, are upstarts. What should the downstarts be like, I mean apart from being likeable to us? Those who start much below their potential and remain below it? And, how about the 'levelstarts'? How would we describe them? That majority, nothing to write home about?
And then you have this duo: underpaid and overpaid. We are pretty much clear about the meaning of both these words, although people's opinions will differ on what is overpaid and what is underpaid. The point to note here is that whosoever is paid, always considers himself underpaid, and whosoever is paying or not getting paid, thinks of the same amount as overpayment. Gives you the perspective, what else! But think of somebody not being overpaid or underpaid, but sidepaid. What kind of a payment would that be?
Do invented things get deinvented before being reinvented?
And here is a gem. I must admit, this one is not my invention, though I wish it were. I read it a very long time ago in the Readers Digest. A lady started a home business. But she didn't know how to write accounts. So her husband advised her to draw up two columns on a paper (this was during a few years b.c. - before computers) and name them 'Income' and 'Outgo'. The difference between the two, he assured her, would certainly be, the 'Outcome.' Brilliant! Sums up all accountancy in these three unforgettable words!
That brings us back to where we started: Upskilling. With English showing signs of such changes, days are not far away when English will look something like "He upstood and outwent." (again, not invented here!) I wouldn't be surprised if the words written above find a place in the next edition of the dictionary.
And, just before we part, here is my last poser: what should you call a person who weighs his words, speaks inoffensively and therefore liked by all? Inspoken?
Ravindra Kathale's interest in entrepreneurship started when as a banker responsible for financing and monitoring small and medium enterprise, he realized how, time and again, entrepreneurs, most of whom were technically qualified, faced difficulties in running, developing and at times even saving their business, on account of them not being fully aware of the 'management' aspect of doing business. Convinced that entrepreneurship was precious and needed to be supported, he started acquiring knowledge in the field of business management and helping them.
He also realized that most young people do not consider entrepreneurship as a serious career option precisely for this very reason. He therefore champions entrepreneurship and offers consultancy to prospective entrepreneurs in safely launching their enterprises.
Every once in a while, however, he takes a detour a dabbles in humour. If you like it, do tell him at rckathale@gmail.com

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Joke Ninja

Conversational Jokes and One-linersJokes can be a non-threatening way to open conversations with strangers, add a ray of sunshine to a friend's day or just share a funny moment with those who are closest to you. Are there not times you wish you could be like a Joke Ninja - landing back on your feet with one funny or hilarious story after another, when you are trying to create some good, clean fun? Remembering great "one-liners" or coming up with fresh comedy material for your next party can be difficult to do, unless you have access to your own comedy writers.
The Internet a Great Source, But Do Not Restrict Yourself
With the Internet, it's easier to find jokes you haven't heard before, regardless of the subject matter. It can be difficult to come up with appropriate funnies for younger audiences, but there are plenty of clean, humorous anecdotes to be found or created, and some have been put in writing. There are some people who just seem to have a knack for thinking up short, amusing stories, whether based on real people, or not. There seems to be an endless supply of the "a ______walked into a bar" or "knock-knock" jokes, but those can get worn out as quickly as "blond" or "fat" "one-liners", depending on your audience.
A Joke Ninja
A Joke Ninja can be defined as a person who knows how to gear their material to their audience, so it won't be offensive, and they know how to tell it so it makes people laugh. There are some people who just don't get good jokes and others can take them downright personally. Knowing your audience helps a lot, if you decide to tell any types of stereotypical "one-liners", such as those about seniors, religion or political sectors, sports or occupations, for example.
You can find plenty of material that's clean enough to tell your grandmother or your kids, but there are all different kinds of categories, when it comes to looking for humorous and funny material. Everyone thinks they can become a comedian if they can remember the punch line, when it comes time to deliver. Those that might be considered a Joke Ninja will have a full range of humorous material, but they will be able to read and command their audience, using the basic concepts of comedy. And just like the Japanese warriors of old, each thrust will be perfectly timed taking the listener(s) off guard.
Delivering different kinds of funny, short stories or performing hilarious impersonations could be considered "stand-up" or "slapstick", but even if you write your own material, you have to admit that delivery is the key factor. There is an art to humor and just because you have some funny material does not mean you won't cause a classic, "one-liner" to become a flop, if you don't make people laugh when telling it.
Master The Joke(s) First
Mastering the telling of jokes is a task that a Joke Ninja, such as professional entertainers or comedians, have learned to consistently incorporate. If you want to make people laugh and become the life of the party, you need to consider joke delivery, besides audience-appropriate material. Sometimes to become funny it is necessary to be most serious, and as some comedians have discovered a serious business can be hilariously funny. Practice, practice and practice the secret of any professional. Putting together new ideas in funny ways can help you be more successful in making people laugh! Get the right material, learn the lines and then make the delivery professional. Lastly, you too should enjoy the fun!
About the author: Ronald Heron enjoys writing funny stories, and we all enjoy a bit of fun too.
Website: http://www.jokeninja.net/

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The date the bank robber caught in comedy errors

Yes, I used to be a COP: n. had worked in two different agencies in NY, and then I moved my FL, which I was just shy 8 years police. Acquiring a lot of you have been a police career, but this one really stands out to me, because not only have fun, but also had to monitor what my body was doing.
The day started nicely. I was in the context of a routine patrol in my community police zone (and no, I was out of the slammin' donuts down saliva bubble Dunkin Donuts at). It was I did at the beginning of my shift. lol all was relatively quiet. I was able to carry out a few traffic stops, some of the warnings, and some of the tickets. Then the radio exploded in the process of Bank Heist with the code. It is not a joke, when you go to zero stress level to the max! ATV may be moving in as may believe.
Now with me through the story. At the end of the "moral story". And this is a true story.
The location is not far from it, if at the moment, I was. Was the second woman (single), who was inside the Bank when the call came out, which was his (tatawag his Jane). So I made my lights and siren on, 180 and proceeded to the location of the road. Jane on the radio, that the suspect left the Bank blasts on foot running West-and that he was a foot pursuit. Angle if the Bank must have round-off. I see the course of the suspect. He was a member of the unlimited guy, and he was wearing blue jeans and leather jacket. I will not disclose any other information. Then Jane, see running (see Jane run. ...). Please note this is all takes place in seconds. It looked like Jane's body wanted to run but his leg wanted to walk. He had just does not make it looked like progress.
Through the parking lot and circled the service played a role, which was at the corner, that the suspect was heading back. I (not forgetting to turn off the siren) of the vehicle to stop and draw my weapon (Glock 9 mm). I knew that this was suspected to have the gas station, because I never seen him Stop on the other side. Now the wall I'm hugging, as I come to the front of the building, a real stealth-like. Is Pumping gas for about 4 people. They took one look at me and my free. Don't know whether to use the @ (* $ _ or go blind. Only they wanted to get the hell outta there.
Now I am on the front of the building. The drive has two large open bays and small parts in the room. I'd like to point on the inside, where he saw (and I gave him a suspect description), buddy. He said parts of the room, which was only one entrance and exit. Now you've got this guy pinned there. Keep in mind that, Jane is not even covered by my location yet. He is still in progress, I think. My weapon door train and I cry unto him with his hand. No response. Because I am standing there, I also radioed that I have now sent by paikallistettu buddy and in need of backup.
At about this time, I noticed something very strange. The status of my weapon-shaking by hand uncontrollably. But the strange thing was, wasn't scared. The investigation was not, at least I feel like I was shaking, but I can manage. Start looking to see who was watching, since anyone can see me as Barney Fife was recorded. I started out the game actually, because I can not at all. As backup waits I am crying out for the guy, that I will send the dog after him (and I mean not the bounty hunter dude). Still no response. Finally, my backup, screaming my location. He draws his gun and know him, I will be the first. The doors of the kick, and we have to grab the buddy. He was completely freaked out, fear and literally kaatavaksi sweat. He cuffed and backups of my car to the pasta patrol side.
My car still parked around the back, and Yes, the siren is still pending. And then I noticed Jane was eventually on the course. He was winded. I found a suspected also that he took off and the skin jacket did attempt to throw off us track. So all ended well. All was safe. I did not Shoot him.
So here is my story of a moral. I never had to drag my weapon by anyone before, and although I would consciously afraid, my sub conscious tells and shows me something different. I am related to this "reaction" in my life the things that happens and what to believe is to others. My alitajunnan was afraid that the reaction of naapuristossa to my physical.
This has taught me a lot of just this one instance to another. If the things that I am afraid now, block in the head. Don't let fear hold you back. Is always a way or ways to win. You should never give up trying because you know the kind of awards, which may just never. And never give goals and dreams. Try The. In The Test. May be able to find some freshness into the path of the different ideas, but do not let anyone steal your dream.
And as always say, grab it and Growl. Go to search-um. I have my weapon reload.
Free to email me with questions or comments: 22debrahill@gmail.com

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What Makes a Good Comedy Routine

Humor is very subjective but there are also universal truths that every person can relate to, unless you don't have a sense of humor which most likely means you are not completely human. It is in these universal truths that a good comedy routine thrives on and is able to transcend culture, race, and even time. So what am I saying? A good comedy routine comes from a believable premise that people can understand or agree on, and usually - but not always - it's about pain.For example, if you are going to do jokes about marriage, then you should find a premise that is believable like "marital sex is the most expensive kind of sex" or "women are weird but men are stupid". Also, you are more likely to get laughs if you are actually married and not pretending to be married. Audiences can somehow sense if the performer is genuine or not.
So, once you have a believable and insightful premise (hopefully better than my own examples), what's next? You create a scenario that exemplifies the statement you just made, or what Judy Carter calls an "act out". It is in this act out where the punch lines come in. You can either exaggerate, compare, or show the absurdity of the premise to create laughter.
In the the premise example I gave, I can create a funny act out:
Women have weird habits, like they will ask you to wear matching outfits so you and her will look like this cheesy couple madly in love walking around for the whole world to see. "Baby, why don't we wear those Mickey Mouse shirts we bought in Disneyland and go out tonight to a comedy club?" Men, we're just stupid because we agree. "That's a great idea!"
Okay, maybe it needs more work but you can see what I mean by acting out the premise to get the funny out of it.
You can apply the same principle to sketch comedy or other forms. The main key is to get the audience to agree with you on the statement you are making. You know you've hit it on the head when your audience says, "That's so true!" And other comedians are thinking, "Damn! How come I didn't think of that?"
Talking about something relatable is just one of the ingredients of a good comedy routine. There are other factors such as timing, stage presence, likability, and so on. The best way to come up with a funny routine is to actually just keep doing it and polishing your skills. There is no substitute for stage experience.
Tim Tayag is a pioneer of point of view stand up comedy in the Philippines and Asia. He started his comedy career in San Francisco back in 1997 and has toured and performed all over the world. You can learn more about him by visiting his site http://www.timtayag.com/ or purchase his comedy CD http://www.timtayag.com/nutritiousstandup/.

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Year, which was not

During the play you Zany stories, you never heard of
Is not a secret that the studious "suppliers" in today's American Media are the world's most comprehensive-and of course, that we do not talk about providing the progressive political agenda. Journalism, is now below the mainstream media, and as I knuckleheads outsourced.
So this is back to some of the play you zany highlights 2011-never heard of stories and that the Government and the media, View, never really happened.
Municipalities in January-President Obama for his toe West Wing, in the framework of the Bureau. He, of course, ask for no one could have known suicide, how badly things had submitted (including furniture) for his predecessor.
February-global warming is caused by the huge snow storm that shut down the East Coast. The entire Government is stuck at the airport and did not return to work in June.
March-may with the Government, the economic returns in a somewhat "different" abysmal "did break up pretty good."
April-President Obama, leaving the ball fall due to the shot, fluffs, and points out that the George w. Bush was messed up so badly nobody can golf to play it.
May-Navy Seals track Finally, Osama Bin Laden. They bow and then Shoot him to apologize on behalf of the administration of the current of the previous.
June-Arab spring full bloom. The Muslim Brotherhood to ignore the Middle East, and great swaths vowing that they guarantee Obama engaged in Algeria, Libya, Egypt and Syria in 2012.
July-President Obama first lady of the national day holiday is then I wrecked him leaving the CAP off the toothpaste Dresses. Official Secret Service investigation is of the opinion that the culprit was actually in the Bush, or perhaps a global conspiracy.
August-Speaking Congress and the White House, the strike deal with caps, to eliminate the maximum amount of the debt from the drop-down and replace it with an acoustic tiles embedded lighting. Zero work does not create; No one will dare to Start or pursuit of the business.
September-the future of a radical change in the "win a 2011 for 37" to "Pass Bill now." Obama supporters praise tri-county area, the President of the rally and are pleased how much easier is to find a parking place, than it was in 2008.
October-the Republicans stand for candidate Obama is opposed to 2012: it has been used in the toaster, they were found to be in the garage at Memphis. Media downplays early voting, with the Show toaster double-digit numbers associated with lead.
Nov-Chairman praises "community," which always been celebrated Thanksgiving.
December-Ebenezer Scrooge throws his hat at the beginning of the vote on the GOP Ring media downplays lead him 24 points will be shown in the toaster (and 40). Suicide in the Bush.
Again, none of this really happened, officially. But the 2011 was fun every year, no doubt, and this is wants to import more smiles over your face, 2012. It is an election year. If you laugh, you will go nuts.
By Michael d. Hume, master's degrees
Michael Hume is a speaker, author and consultant specializing in that Maximize their potential and enjoy the inspiring life. As part of his trip to the targets of the operation he coaches managers and leaders of the leadership of the growing welfare, prosperity and personal management, personal vitality of this emotion.
Michael and his wife, Kathryn, split their time between homes in California and Colorado. They are very proud of their offspring, which increased by homemaker, Rock Star, talent and TV expert. Two grandchildren also warm their hearts! Michael's web site at http://michaelhume.net/

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Facebook Users We Like To Avoid

The "Update Bore-aholic""I'm waking up." "I had tofu pancakes for breakfast." "I'm so bored at work." "I'm stuck in traffic, and need a drink."
Holy crap, how fascinating your posts and updates are (not). Nothing is too mundane for this type of user to broadcast every single action that happens on a whim. People, just because you have nothing better to do with your time than to broadcast your every single move with the thought that it was the next terrific thing to happen to you - try reading a book, or better yet, get a hobby that doesn't include using anything electronic.
The "Self-Promoter"
OK, so we've probably all posted at least once about some achievement in our lives. Sure, maybe your friends really do want to read the fascinating article you wrote about Argentinian ant farming. But when almost every update is a link to your blog, your lyrics listings, or your drab art show, you sound like a bragger or a self-centered careerist, which is a real turn-off.
The "Friend" horde
The average Facebook / Twitter user has about 120 friends on the site. The social butterflies -- you know, the ones who make life-long pals on the downtown bus -- might reasonably have 300 or 400. But to have over 1,000 "friends?" Unless you're The Pope or just won the lottery, no one has that many friends. That's just showing off, and it shows how shallow you are to the world that you would accept anyone that requests a friend or Follower.
The Town Crier
"Michael Jackson is dead!!!" You heard it from me first!
Me, and the 213,000 gazillion other people who all saw it on CNN. These users are the reason many of us learn of breaking news not from TV or news sites but from online social networks. In their rush to trumpet the news, these people also spread rumors, half-truths and innuendo. Users such as this are why Snopes.com is doing so well.
The TMIer
"Chad is heading to Walgreens to buy something for my pesky hemorrhoids."
The boundaries of privacy and decorum don't seem to exist for these too-much-information up daters, who offer up every personal detail about their sex lives, marital troubles and bodily functions. Thanks for sharing, time to drop you now, perhaps block you too.
The Really Bad Grammarian
"So sad about Fara Fauset but Im so gladd its friday yippeeee".
Yes, I realize that the punctuation rules are different in the digital world. That doesn't make it correct. No one likes a spelling-Nazi schoolmarm, but you sound like a friggin' moron and you don't care one tinker's cuss what you say even if we can't understand what you posted because you probably don't either. Your family always "likes" your broadcast, so you don't get upset.
The Sympathy-Baiter
"Barbara is feeling sad today." "Man, am I glad that's over." "Jim could really use some good news about now."
Like anglers hunting for fish, these sad sacks cast out their hooks -- baited with vague tales of woe -- in the hopes of landing concerned responses. Genuine bad news is one thing, but these manipulative posts are just pleas for attention. You keep a box of kleenex next to your laptop, don't you.
The Stalk-Lurker
The true "Peeping Toms of Facebook", these users are too cautious, or maybe too lazy (most likely too drunk), to update their status or write on your wall. But once in a while, you'll be talking to them and they'll mention something you posted, so you know they're on your page, hiding in the shadows. It's really a little creepy, actually, very creepy.
The "Face-Cranks"
"Jose isn't really that impressed with those idiots who don't realize how idiotic they are."
These curmudgeons, like the trolls who spew hate in several blog comments, never seem to run out of things they couldn't complain about. Just keep spreading the love...
The Paparazzo
Have you ever visited your Facebook page to find that someone's posted a photo of you from last weekend's party -- a photo you haven't even seen? You'd really rather not have to explain to your wife why you were leering like a drunken hyena and French-kissing a bottle of Jagermeister at an office party. Avoid these users like the PLAGUE.
The Obscurist
"If not now then when?" "You'll see..." "Peter is, small world." "Dave thought he was immune, but no. No, he is not. And I don't wish this for the world."
I'm sorry, you're not being mysterious -- just nonsensical - now shut the hell up! Oh, wait here's a button for that...
The Chronic Inviter
"Support my cause. Sign my petition. Play Mafia Wars with me. Which 'Star Trek' character are you? I sent you a heart! Here are the 'Top 5 cars I have personally owned.' Here are '25 Things About Me.' Here's a drink. What drink are you? We're related! I took the 'What President Are You?' quiz and found out I'm Millard Fillmore! What president are you? Which Smurf are you?"
You probably mean well, but stop. Just stop! I don't care what president I am -- can't we simply be friends?
Now excuse me while I go post the link to this story on my Facebook page.
Scott Fleming is CEO of Music City Guru, based in Nashville, TN. An affordable Website Development company and Hosting Services provider.
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Tips for Making Your First Standup Appearance

So after some coaxing from your friends, you're ready to hit the stage and make people laugh their pants off. But before you go up, here are the top 5 tips for making your first standup comedy appearance.1. Bring friends.
Some people might discourage you from bringing friends because it might skew your audience. After all, if you truly are funny, you should be able to make strangers laugh. However, if it's your first time, then I highly recommend you get all the support you can. Having your friends should help you feel comfortable on stage and get more confident, unless they're the ones heckling you. After you've had a few performances under your belt, then you can do without your friends, unless they really want to watch you because you're that funny.
2. Use your nervous energy.
Most people don't know how nervous you are. Use this nervousness to your advantage. Channel it to increase your enthusiasm on stage. Be animated but don't be distracting. For example, if you're going to pace back and forth onstage, put the microphone stand behind you and put some purpose to your stride. Walk to one side and make a point. Walk to the other side and make another point. Sometimes, even admitting that you're nervous can elicit laughter. For example, when there's a thin crowd I open with, "I'm a bit nervous tonight because I'm used to a much smaller audience than this".
3. Stay within your time limit.
It doesn't matter if you're killing or if you're bombing (actually it matters more when it's the latter), stick to your time. Club owners and other comedians hate comics who go over their allotted time. You're taking away time from the next comedian. Please be a professional and get off stage when you see the signal.
4. Memorize your set list.
Notice I wrote set list and not jokes. You don't have to memorize your jokes verbatim, unless you're the kind of comedian that does his or her set exactly the same every time to every audience. But at least know your set list. You should know the flow of what you're going to talk about by heart. Have an opener, a middle, and a closer. Once you commit these parts to memory you will have an easier time and can even ad lib since you know how to get back into the flow.
5. Have fun.
As a comedian, sometimes you forget to have fun. This is the original reason why you wanted to do this in the first place, so just have fun. If you're enjoying yourself onstage, so will your audience. Just keep your clothes on, unless you're Dane Cooking it.
Tim Tayag is a pioneer of point of view stand up comedy in the Philippines and Asia. He started his comedy career in San Francisco back in 1997 and has toured and performed all over the world. You can learn more about him by visiting his site http://www.timtayag.com/ or get some comedy tips http://www.timtayag.com/category/comedy-education/

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