(The PC police raid Christmas)
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It was a busy week at life this week, full of missed deadlines, a Southern blizzard, and a confused stock market that seemed determined to make more moves than a convention of Elvis impersonators.
Unfortunately for all you faithful readers (my Dad and … um … no, it’s pretty much just him), that means I was unable to dedicate the time I usually set aside for composing each week’s humor column (ten minutes). So here are some collected observations culled from last week’s news, because in America the actual news is often funnier by itself than anything I could lie about anyway.
Let’s begin:
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Urban Meyer, legendary football coach at Ohio State, is finally planning to retire. According to insider sources at the University, his contract requires that he’ll have to change his name to Rural Meyer.
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A liberal politician from Hawaii (yeah, I know) claims that Democrats don’t do well among voters because “We Democrats know so much.”
Yeah, that’s probably it.
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Last week, a headhunter emailed me an offer for a job interview, luring me with this spastic opener: “It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”
Ooh, nice. I are think I will be having works with they.
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Need a Christmas gift for that special someone? According to Cosmopolitan, there is growing interest in an aesthetic procedure known as “anal bleaching.”
Of course, as with all things rump-related, there are risks … and I quote: “Side effects of chemical bleaching products can seriously suck.”
You gotta love hard science.
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Oh, great. There’s Burl Ives again, singing (sic) about Christmas.
Wonder what would happen if Burl Ives and Geraldo Rivera had a child? I mean, other than the obvious: Geraldo claiming he had both mothered and fathered the fetus while dodging gunfire on a Bosnian airport runway.
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Here’s something I recently learned – Alaska averages 40,000 earthquakes a year. Wow. Apparently, Alaska’s even more unstable than Chuck Schumer’s colon.
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Last week, Paris set itself on fire, thanks to brow-beaten protestors who have to work four whole days a week and who take the entire month of August off.
This, from a country where being rude is an art form, and whose citizenry once collectively surrendered to a crepe.
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An online friend shared an ad for an Illinois mom-and-pop business named Jones BBQ & Foot Massage.
Imagine that drive-thru lane.
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A tease on the news: “Coming up next! The 2020 Democrat Presidential Candidates!”
Turns out that’s not just the year of the next election … it’s also the number of candidates.
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Someone who needs to be repeatedly punched in the face has suggested that parents put “something valuable” in the car’s back seat so they won’t forget their baby is back there.
I am not good enough to make this stuff up.
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The latest candidate for simpering selective outrage? “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” The rationale? Rudolph was bullied by the other imaginary reindeer kids. All the does made fun of his small antlers. Santa Claus, the personification of evil, “marginalized” poor Rudolph, and his youth sports coach, Steve Spurrier, egged on the other reindeer not to let Rudolph join in the Reindeer Games, which were held every four years in Osaka.
Worst of all, Rudolph’s dad, Donner, was guilty of verbal abuse. (Much later in life, Donner become well-known for eating people in California. Not that that’s a bad thing.)
But the thin-skinned whiners have spoken. The tale of Rudolph, a staple of Christmas folklore since 1939 must go; otherwise, somebody’s feelings might get hurt.
America will never win another war.
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There’s also a lot of indignant noise this Christmas season about the seasonal classic, “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” That’s right – the catchy tune that won the 1949 Academy Award for Best Original Song is now getting body-slammed by the #MeToo posse for being horribly offensive, since the cleverly constructed lyrics are obviously promoting date rape.
But apparently, we’re all fine with anal bleaching.
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