Archive for the ‘Cheap gags’ Category

April drool

April 2, 2019

Yesterday’s air-quality report from the City of Albuquerque.

I lay low for April Fool’s Day. It’s gotten to be kind of like the St. Patrick’s Day or New Year’s Eve of comedy — not for serious funnymen. Funnypersons? Persons of funny?

My favorite April Fool’s gag may be the time the Gazette caught the Greeley Tribune napping. It was in the late Seventies, and some wisenheimers on staff faked up a photo of an El Paso County pickle farmer inspecting a bumper crop (reporter Don Branning in a planter’s hat, examining a plump dill tied to a tree across the street from the newspaper).

We ran it on the Metro front, then put it on The Associated Press wire just for giggles. To our astonishment, the Tribune picked it up and ran the shot on its Farm page despite the photo credit, which read something like, “GT photo by Aprylle Foole.”

The desk jockey who made that call clearly was not a local boy with shitcaked bootheels. The Tribune is in Weld County, one of the richest agricultural counties east of the Rockies, the state’s top producer of grain, sugar beets and cattle.

Not pickles, though. El Paso County had all the pickle farms in Colorado.

Here in New Mexico the ash and juniper are providing all the comedy, if your idea of a good laugh involves watching some poor sod’s nose run like an irrigation ditch with a busted headgate.

I pretended to be a runner yesterday afternoon and came home with an enraged snotlocker, a condition that persists this morning. Snot funny, man.

Droll Massif

March 12, 2019

We used to roll massif Back in the Day®. But that was when ditch weed went for $10 per lid.

These crazy kids today. Riding the goddamn bicycle used to be good enough for us — it was painful, and unrewarding, and we liked it! — but in these days of modern times it has to come wrapped up in organic, free-trade hemp paper and PBA-free ribbons with a non-GMO cherry on top.

You got your sportives, your 24-hour mountain-bike events, and your gravel races. And now you got your Roll Massif, which sounds like Bob Roll in the off-season but isn’t.

What it is, is a Colorado combo platter with all three main items, but without beans, rice and tortilla.

I gotta admit, it kinda sounds like … sounds like … like … OK, all right, fun! It sounds like fun! There! I said it! Happy?

More fun than sitting indoors in Albuquerque, watching the wind blow the rain to Kansas, anyway. That shit is boring.

When we got bored on the copy desk we’d start making stuff up. Not for publication, unless the slot man was drunk, asleep or both, but just for giggles. Bogus horoscopes. Fake AP stories. That sort of thing. It was the journalistical equivalent of a cup check. Occasionally someone’s cup runneth’d over and that shit made the paper, but it wasn’t our fault. We may have been drunk, but we weren’t asleep.

So, since the slot man took the buyout, bought a van, and relocated down to the river, here are some Roll Massif riffs for anyone who thinks wax is for chains, not moustaches.

I mean, Jesus, what’s next, hipsters? A 24-hour gravel sportive for e-bikes? Get the hell off my lawn, sonny.

The Droll Massif

• Roll Massif. What’s hidden, and not very well, either, under a master racer’s Assos bibs.

• Jelly Roll Massif. The Fat Guy on a fat bike.

• Raul Massif. The Fat Guy’s Mexican alias, used when he sneaks over the border for some pan dulce auténtico. Incidentally, he thinks a “Roll Massif” comes from Cinnabon.

• Rule Massif. “Bring your own food on the ride,” sayeth the Fat Guy. “I’m serious. I need all six of those Clif Bars just to get out of the garage.”

• Bull Massif. A bunch of Mad Dogs bragging about how they could crush the Roll Massif if only some generous forklift operator would pry them off the couch.

• Bowl Massif. A “Lebowski” sequel featuring The Fat Guy, who would consider playing Walter Sobchak a Role Massif.

• Troll Massif. Ridiculing someone’s Roll Massif performance on Twitter before the ride has even started.

• Droll Massif. Not taking the Roll Massif seriously enough to placate a Troll Massif.

• Hole Massif. A puncture in your 650b x 2.1s that the sealant won’t resolve.

• Stroll Massif. A double Hole Massif with no spare tubes.

• Toll Massif. Ask not for whom the Massif tolls. It tolls for thee.

Righty-tighty

March 3, 2019

President Flathead*
*Some assembly required.

“All right, now, Mr. Miller, I want answers,” says Rep. Jerrold Nadler (D-N.Y), chairman of the House Judiciary committee.

“We have yourself, Vice President Pence, Sen. Graham, Ms. Sanders, Mr. Kushner, Ms. Conway, House Minority Leader McCarthy, Mr. Hannity, and the entire White House janitorial staff. What I want to know is this: Just how many of you does it take to help the crooked sonofabitch screw his pants on in the morning?”

• Monday Morning Update: Meanwhile, winning! He’s even managing to top himself when it comes to prevarication,  obfuscation and outright bullshit, according to The Washington Post.

Get bent

February 26, 2019

From February 1968, when bending a phone took a little more than
a bored engineer and/or an attitude problem.

I’ve wanted to bend my phone a time or two. But the urge usually passes.

Screwed again

February 12, 2019

Fake news.

“‘Tool Disposal Notice?'” I said. “At long last, they’re impeaching him!”

Nope. Just a Harbor Freight Tools ad. Still, a fella can always use a bigger hammer for those delicate adjustments to this and that.

A sign of the tines

November 19, 2018

MARA the Tempter is always on the job. Though not necessarily with a rake.

Or “A Rake’s Progress.”

• A tip of the bracero’s sombrero for the news nugget goes out to Merrill “M-Dogg” Oliver, a Noo Yawkah turned Californicator who is something of a rake in his own right.

Bring out your dead

October 31, 2018

That’ll be ninepence. And a happy Halloween to you.

Pump bomb

October 24, 2018

Someone has a short fuse for the fake news.

Never fear. They missed me.

Waiting for Columbus

October 8, 2018

It’ll all come out in the wash

October 5, 2018

I’m ditchin’, man.

Well, no; no, it won’t.

But I’m in the wash* anyway.

 

*We call washes “arroyos” down here, and sometimes we don’t come out, either.