Pleated Jeans

I don’t think robots can have a soul. Because it they did, the good ones would go to heaven. And as most Christians will agree, that’s just not something Robo-Jesus would allow.

My aunt calls the little thingamabob that scuttles around and vacuums her floors a robot. But that’s not a robot. That’s Lupe.

If some guy tries to tell you that horseracing is the sport of kings, I think a clever way to answer is simply by saying “nay.” Because in horse language it means “I agree. Horses are superior to humans and I am proud to serve them.” You know, in case those paranoid horse kings are spying on us.

I think Frankenstein’s monster would make a great quarterback. For one, look at the arm on that guy. For two, while you’re wasting time trying to figure out how to tackle him, here comes old buddy Dracula to suck your blood.

I want a really big, fancy dinner with a 10-lb. turkey and all the trimmings. And by trimmings, I mean another, smaller turkey.

One that’s healthy, made with bran and has just the right amount of natural sweetness. Maybe from raisins. Like, two scoops of them in every box. And maybe the mascot for the cereal could be, like, a cartoon sun with “cool” sunglasses on. And on the box he’s holding the raisins, one in each arm. And both of the raisins are real sexy cartoon girl raisins, and the sun is making out with both of them. You know, because the raisins are “sun-kissed?” Mr. Kellogg’s should really call me back about this idea.

I wouldn’t be too picky, just so long as it was healthy and happy. And white.

You know, for impressing girls.

I want digital cable with all the movie channels. And a flat-screen TV that I can watch it on. And a wall mount to put the TV on. And a house with a wall to put the wall mount on. And also, a pair of human eyes so I can see the movies.

I want a job that pays good money. Or bad money. As long as there’s a lot of it, I don’t guess it matters.

I want that annoying girl to leave me alone. I want her to stop calling my cell phone, to stop showing up at my front door and to stop asking why I “married her in the first place.”

Good surprise: you win tickets to see your favorite band perform live in concert.
Bad surprise: everyone laughs at you when you tell them your favorite band is Mr. Mister.

Good surprise: after years of auditions, you are finally cast in a blockbuster movie attached to a well-known director.
Bad surprise: the director is Uwe Boll.

Good surprise: coming home to see that your friends have cooked you a spaghetti dinner.
Bad surprise: Carol left the gas stove on and everyone’s dead.

Good surprise: waking up to the smell of freshly baked pancakes.
Bad surprise: realizing you’re in jail with a pending DWI and your cellmate used all the syrup.

In the 4th grade I challenged Ricky Fitzsimmons to a fight. My best friend Tommy thought I was crazy. “Are you kidding? That guy’s as big as my house,” I remember him saying. “That may be true,” I said. “But I’m bigger than that cardboard box you live in, so I think I can take him.”

My first kiss was in 1st grade. I was playing Go Fish with this girl named Sandy, when all of sudden she leaned over and kissed me on the mouth. I liked it, but for weeks after I kept wondering if she’d given me Cooties. Of course, that’s ridiculous. The cold sores should have been a dead give away that it was Herpes.

Skateboards!? Bah – boards aren’t meant for riding. They’re meant for building houses, making chairs and smacking the Irish when they come for your gold!

Making out in public!? Sex on the first date!? Back in my day, women played hard to get and earned our respect before going all the way. Boy, did that used to really cheese me off!

One time when I was a kid, I was out riding my horse when she slipped and broke her leg. It was hard to do, but I had to take my gun and put old Blackie down. It may sound bad to you, but that’s just a regular way of life out here on the farm. Wait. Did I say life? I meant murder.