Category Archives: Funny Ha Ha

Words, Words, Words….

I got a present today from my wife.

I wasnt quite prepared for how it made me feel.

Everyday or so, I try to jot down a few witty phrases or discombobulated strings of words to highlight where my brain has been.

Apparently, my wife thinks I’m funny.

I appreciate her (check earlier blogpost re: this) for her appreciation of my humour.

I’m not that funny, IMO. Moderately giggle-worth, perhaps. Occasionally haw haw-ish.

But the gift was a collection of my words,  peppered with hilarious quotes by my children, accented here and there in coloured text.

It is pretty fantastic.

There is also a frame.

Which means she wants to see it up on the wall for others to see, snicker at, chuckle upon and enjoy.

As I said – I wasnt prepared.

The gift was wonderful.

My wife, however, is irreplaceable.

Lotto 649 can suck it.

Clutter Fuss or, Kung-Fu Feng Shui for Dummies

It happened again.

I don’t know if it’s some kind of growing OCD tumesence or what, but it is getting annoying. And painful.

We reorganized the living room/dining room. Folded all the laundry.  Swept. Tidied the games.

You know,  good old fashioned family bonding activities.

I think the issue is we have to much stuff.

Or, more appropriately, we don’t have enough space for our stuff.

Invariably,  I sit and sulk because I don’t like the way in which the room I happen to be sitting in is laid out.

Eventually, rather than pick one square meter to work on, I dive head first into a massive block-sized reorg that takes up most of the day or night or weekend, and leaves me with a sore back.

A really sore back.

I guess its good that the result is a room i can sit in and enjoy.

I can sit in my recliner, gaze out the window and imagine a time when I may not have to stress about clutter and mess and disorganization.

Of course now I can’t get out my chair because:

A) my back still hurts

&

B) there’s another basket of unfolded laundry caught under the foot rest.

Well, shit.

What a cluster fuck.

No Sense Crying Over Perhaps The Milk…..

Late night snacks are a slippery slope.

It is generally considered a bad idea to eat before bed.

But if you must – and I usually do –  its best to have something light yet filling.

My second oldest son was nice enough to get me a bowl of corn flakes.

In doing so, he promtply drowned the fucking flakes.

Like full on capsized the poor little things.

There were screams. Entire clans of corn flakes flailing uselessly against the milky surf.

I am now eating a larger portion than previously planned.

Slippery.  Slope.

General Malais, Reporting For Duty

I remembered what I dislike most about winter.

Sorry. Yes, in case you weren’t sure, it is in fact, now winter.  That snow never melted.

So as I was saying, dislike.

A severe lack of desire to do anything.

Now, I don’t necessarily think its seasonal affective disorder. Or at least I am not yet willing to entertain that notion.

I do think it is mostly laziness.

So, as a means to combat this and other related stresses, my wife and I are embarking on a new venture.

Tomorrow.

Ideally, this intention will brighten our moods, decrease our waist size and hopefully extend the length our lives.

I hope this time it sticks.

I’d like to feel better soon.

Silence is Off-Ochre…

There are occasions every so often, when a person has nothing compelling to say.

There are also times when people don’t know when to shut up.

I like to think I’ve developed a keen sense of diplomacy and sharp observational skills that enable me to ascertain the potential for these disastrous and uncomfortable situations, and hopefully, the wherewithal to avoid them.

Sometimes, that isn’t the case.

Today, however, I think I might be “in the zone”, so to speak.

So, in light of the above statements, I’m going to leave you with this parting bit of wisdom:

If you’re the only one talking in a room full of awkward silence, you might want to take a hint.

Nighty-night.

Hitting the Wall

So I’ve been at this now consistently for two weeks.

I wonder how professionals do it.

I mean it’s a lot of work, dragging chunky bits of scribbling gold out of my head each and every day.

I remember when I was in college, back in the old Twentieth, riding to school on the TTC. My brain was afire with glimmering wondercakes of poetic wizardry. The words flew forth as if I was possessed by the first dictionary-ist.

Sorry. I accidentally a word.

I still have all those scraps, safely tucked away, the ink barely faded.

Maybe I should try to transpose them, as a catalogue of my intellectual and creative development through the millennia.

That way, philosophy professors of the future will have a wealth of pre-lecture ha-has with which to entertain whatever passes for students at that time.

Larson. Epic.

Still, there was a good one i wrote about trees.

Remind me to dig it up before I leave.

Well, that’s just like your opinion, man……

I should just keep my mouth shut.

Listen.

I have this bizarre notion that people deserve truth.

Perhaps this is the last remaining glimmer of my twenty-something idealism, desperately clinging to life at the edge of a raw nerve.

I honestly believe that my doing anything less than be truthful with you is a disservice.

And that doesn’t jive with me.

You see, I can take you being angry with me.

Feel the need to voice your opinion? Go ahead!

Wanna chuck a burning toaster at my head? Why not?

Perhaps a conveniently located Plymouth moving forwards and backwards over my right foot will provide the necessary relief from tension, gained by my heartfelt but straightforward offering?

Knock yourself the fuck out.

Because I am a big boy. And I have big boy shoulders. And big boy pants to accommodate my big boy balls. And all of these attributes afford me the confidence, the wherewithal and the consideration to respect you enough to not yank your fucking chain. Even if it means hurting your feelings a little bit.

It does you no good. And it does me no good.

No matter what anyone ever says or ever feels about what you do, say or think, they should always be willing to admit that you were always honest.

And that you always knew where your towel was.

Assistance Is Futile….

So my oldest son is participating in an overnight cenotaph vigil with his Air Cadet Squadron for Remembrance Day.

I’m pretty proud of him.

However, as I was finishing work tonight, my wife texted me and said he’d forgotten his toque.

Like any dutiful Dad, I ran it over to him.

As I arrived at the legion, he was sitting at a table with some friends, his back to me.

And that’s when I saw it.

You see, it is customary, in any military oriented organization, to keep a certain dress and deportment about yourself.

Specifically your hair.

Now, he’d done his due diligence last night by using the clippers and giving himself a proper haircut.

Except for the ridiculous swath of hair he missed on the back of his head.

I mentioned it. He said he knew already.

For smegs sake people. If you need help with something, just ask.