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Many people get bored or discouraged when they have a long layover time in an airport when they are flying.  I say take advantage of the time and have some fun.  If you are thinking shooting spitballs at the TSA agent you would be wrong.  While that would be great fun and even a worthwhile hobby it would be too dangerous because of those pesky security camera they have all over the place.   But at least I know you are thinking the right way.

One of my favorite activities in airport, besides leaving other coffee company’s cups inside Starbucks stores, is the people movers.  It’s fun to act like you are in a hurry and have people move to the right so that you can make your “emergency” pass.  But it can also be a lot of fun to just ride back and forth on the people movers.  Although, to avoid looking like a crazy person who is just killing time (which is what you’d be doing) you have to act like you just went the wrong way.

This can take a great deal of acting skill and makes it all the more fun.  When you get off the people mover you have to stop and look like you just realized it’s very possible you went in the wrong direction.  You need to look in the direction you just came and back the other way.  Put your hands on your hips and scrunch up your face a little.  Then you look like you had the sudden realization that you went in the wrong direction.  You shake your head and laugh at how silly you were to go the wrong way and get back on the people mover in the direction from which you just came.  Be sure to have a big smile on your face and let it diminish as you get closer to the other end because you’ll have to do the same thing all over again.

One warning though, do not get to carried away with this little drill and start acting like a mime trying to get out of his invisible box because you might have people have a sudden urge to beat you.

While you probably thought people were watching your award winning performance from the start, once you’ve done this for an hour or two you will definitely have an audience so you’re going to want to carry a tip cup with you so you can be rewarded like any street performer would be.  So, really you can make this layover actually pay off.  It’s much better than just wandering in stores where you are likely to spend money.  With this you get to entertain yourself and make money, supposedly.

It really gets fun if you are with one or more people and they’ll play too because then you get to point and even pretend to argue with the other person about the direction you were supposed to go in.

If none of this strikes your fancy you can pretend you are a computer geek and can’t wait to get off the plane so you can immediately sit on the disgustingly dirty airport floors and get your Internet and e-mail fix.  Unless you are actually a computer geek, than go ahead and do that anyway, without pretending.

If none of this seems like fun you can always go back to what you thought I was going to say in the first place and shoot spitballs at the TSA agents.  Just to be safe though, see if you can get one of those invisibility cloaks like Harry Potter uses.  Or if you can’t locate one of those you can at least PRETEND you have one.

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I went into an Apple store the other day, not as a customer but as more of a tag along.  Not being much of a techie at all it is very unusual for someone like me to be seen in a place like that.  I was as out of place there as John Edwards and Arnold Schwarzenegger would be at a Planned Parenthood meeting .

One thing that did impress me though was the dress code of the workers there.  Except for the Apple logoed shirts they were wearing the type of clothing that you’d see someone typically wear to a picnic.  Since my standard summer wardrobe consists of shirt, shorts and sneakers it made me think, “Hey, maybe I am a geek after all.”  And on top of that it seemed like a lot of the employees were just standing around doing nothing, even though it looked like there were people waiting for service, it made me think, “Hmmm, maybe I do fit in here.”  I thought I could even work at a place like this since I specialize in standing around doing nothing.  It was even my major in college.

I mustered up the courage to ask the manager for a job.  But when he found out that I never owned any Apple made equipment and I think Mac is what you call a guy when you can’t think of his name, the interview got off to a bad start. Then it quickly ended when I realized I didn’t even know how to turn on an Iphone.

That’s okay, I only wanted a paycheck, not a job.  And even though their dress standards were low I get to work at home in my underwear and I think that is even below their standards. (Although, I did see one of them with his underwear outside his clothes.)

When someone finally came up to help us she carried an Iphone.  I was pleasantly surprised when she talked to us rather than texting as we stood face to face.  The question I wanted to ask her is why are all these Apple products prefaced with “I?”  Is it all part of the hedonistic culture that we have emblazoned across the nation and, in fact, the world that is manifested by the geeks that are so afraid to actually communicate that they bury their attention into a machine they can conveniently carry in their hand anywhere they go so they can hide from true human contact with anyone?  But I didn’t ask it because I was too busy laughing to myself about that the guy that was wearing his underwear outside of his clothes.

Then, as we finished, the girl attending to us made us feel as if we got a gift from heaven.  She did a little spin on the pricing that, instead of massively overcharging us only slightly overcharged us, making us feel like we scored a major coup, when it reality it was more like only getting punched in the face as opposed to being mugged and left in the gutter for dead.

Other than all of that it was quite an experience.  But my last question for the Apple people would be if these phones are so damn smart why aren’t they smart enough to teach me how to use one?  (Insert your own joke here about my intelligence or lack thereof.)

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The reputation is that women get together and they talk about relationships over a two hour lunch and then they split up the bill down to the penny and if they catch the waiter trying to listen in on their conversation they stiff him.  But recent research that I have done (meaning I thought about it and came up with this theory) is that men talk about relationships just as much as women do, maybe more.

This may surprise you but, frankly, it appears the men are also much more sensitive about it all too.  Here’s an example:

Woman #1:  Bob just doesn’t communicate with me anymore.  He just comes home and plops down in front of the TV and stares at it until he falls asleep.

Woman #2: I hear you.  My Joe does the same thing.  There is one night a week that’s different though.  I have to admit I get excited every week when Monday comes around… because he goes bowling and I get the house to myself.

(They both laugh.)

Men on the other hand take their relationship talk much more seriously.  Here’s what I mean:

Man #1:  I was watching the Lakers’ game last night and there just doesn’t seem to be any communication going on with them the way they move the ball around.

Man #2: I know what you mean.  I’m really worried about it.  If they keep going this way there won’t be any 3-peat.

Now you see what I mean.  There is genuine concern with the men whereas the women are quite cavalier about this relationship problem and just make a joke about it (and not that funny of one either.)  As it turns out that male conversation above turned out to be very prophetic and I, for one, am very distraught about the Lakers’ loss in the playoffs, stemming from their lack of communication, the cornerstone of any relationship.

Men and women also both talk about sex with their friends pretty equally.  Here’s another example:

Woman #1:  Bob was all horny last night and when I finally got the kids to sleep and went up to the bedroom he was asleep.

Woman #2:  HaHa! Just like a man!

(No one really likes that woman #2.)

Now let’s listen to men discussing sex:

Man #1:  So there I was watching the Lakers and for the first time in a week my wife wants to have sex.

Man #2: Oh my god!  What did you do?

Man #1:  Fortunately I was able to hold her off until halftime.

Man #2:  Cool!  Did you miss any of the game?

Man #1:  No, that was the beauty of the whole thing.  We were done and she had time to make me a snack too before the game was back on.

Man#2:  Oh, that’s beautiful, man.  So it was a win-win for everyone!  Way to go!

Are you following my line of thinking here?  Men – SENSITIVE.  Women, not so much.

Here’s another example that should seal the deal on the sensitivity thing:

Woman #1:  Bob hasn’t bugged me to have sex for weeks now.  I have to admit I’m kind of enjoying it.

Woman #2:  I know what you’re saying.

Here’s the men.  I’ll have to set up this scenario.  They are watching a basketball game and the team they are rooting for make a three point play with only seconds to go, putting them ahead by 5 points.  They jump to their feet and high-five each other.

Man #1:  They (meaning the opposing team) are so screwed now!

They high-five again.

So, you see the men are not only sensitive, but in this example they are also quite passionate about the screwing.  Sensitive and passionate, what a combination!

I don’t know about you but all this relationship talk has somehow put me in the mood to watch some basketball.

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(My new humor book, “How to Romance a Woman and Other Crap Like That”  is available on the darnfunnyonline.com web site for only  $6.95.  It is an e-book. Download it now and start enjoying it right  away!)

We are now into the tax season so it’s hard to not have a little attention on the IRS.  Over the last week it’s also hard to not have had a little bit of attention on Charlie Sheen simply because his rants have been all over the news.  I thought it would be fun to see what it would be like to have these two somewhat crazy subjects meet up so I imagined how it would go if Charlie Sheen would be audited by the IRS.  Here’s what it was like:

IRS agent:  Good afternoon, Mr. Sheen.  Thank you for coming in.  How are you today?

Charlie:  DUH!  WINNING!

IRS agent:  …Okay then.  Well, we have some tax deductions that are a little questionable.  I’d like to go over them with you.  Let’s start with this one.  You have $3.6 million down here for travel expenses.  How can that be?

Charlie:  Are you kidding me?  I’m a freakin’ rock star from Mars.  You think space travel comes cheap?

IRS agent:  Okaaay, we’ll come back to that one.  Next, I see you have a major deduction for pet expenses.  Unless you are an animal breeder that won’t be an allowable deduction.

Charlie:  Again, kiddin’ me?  I have  a cat and if you know anything about me you know I have tiger blood!  It’s like the cat is one of my children.

IRS agent:  …Next, we have an unusual religious donation.  Can you explain that?

Charlie:  Sure can. I drink tiger blood and I gave it up for Lent, therefore it is a religious drink and I can deduct it.

IRS agent: But…that doesn’t even remotely make sense.

Charlie:  I am all about winning.  I don’t follow the rules that a troll like you would follow.  I only care about WINNING, which I’m doing.  (Blows smoke in the agent’s face.)

IRS agent:  (coughs) As far as Lent goes, didn’t I hear you say you are half Jewish?

Charlie:  Hey, I’ll be whatever I need to be to get through this freakin’ audit, man.

IRS agent:  (exasperated) What is this deduction for art about?

Charlie:  I just had a tattoo put on my wrist.  (Shows him the “Winning” tattoo on his wrist.)  If that’s not art I don’t know what is.

IRS agent:  (ready to break into tears) What is this deduction for weapons?

Charlie:  Dude, I’m a Vatican assassin warlock.  It just stands to reason I have to have some kinds of weapons.

IRS agent:  (a tear rolls down his cheek) You can’t deduct the Goddesses.  You’re not married.

Charlie:  How about we call that an entertainment deduction then, because when I watch those two go at it in bed together I sure am entertained… I’m even sensing that you aren’t going to allow my psychiatric deduction for the advice I got from Sean Penn, Mel Gibson, and Pete Rose.

IRS agent:  First of all, those 3 guys sound like the trifecta for trouble and also, did you even pay them for this advice?

Charlie:  Well, no, but I’m a very creative guy and I’m winning so, I thought I’d give it a shot.

IRS agent:  I’m sorry Mr. Sheen.  I’m not going to be able to allow any of these deductions.

Charlie: (angry) Okay, now you’re just being judgmental.  I don’t care about the past.  I’m done with it.  So, I’m not going to be filing my taxes anymore.  They are in the past.

And that’s what happens when crazy meets crazy.  You get a whole lot of crazy.

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Last April I had to go to the DMV to get my driver’s license renewed.  I wrote an article for darnfunnyonline.com at the time, chronically that nightmare.  In January I moved to California and once again I had to go to the DMV, this time in California.  The DMV is never fun but California’s DMV makes Nevada’s look like Paradise.  Besides, no one should have to go to the DMV more than once in less than a year. That should be classified as cruel and unusual punishment.

My day started off trying to find a parking space in a lot that is about one quarter of the size it should be.  Luckily, the parking space fairy was on my side that day because I only had to cruise around for about five minutes before I was able to beat another driver to a spot.  He was a good sport about it though because he gave me a hearty wave as he drove away.  Although, I think he must have hurt his hand earlier because his middle finger was sticking out as he waved.  I felt sorry for him and gave a nice wave back.

Next, I had to deal with an unusual (euphemism for psycho) security guard.  I wasn’t sure I was at the right place so I walked over to his side and asked him if I was.  He stared straight ahead and answered in a strange psycho-like monotone voice, “Do you think you’re in the right place?”

I looked around to see if he was talking to someone other than me.  Satisfied there was no one else (he actually could have been talking to an invisible guy now that I think of it) I said, “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.”

Then he said curtly, “Ask one of them,” pointing to other customers.

Exasperated I replied, “They don’t work here they are customers like me.”

Then as he slowly turned his head and glared at me (at least he finally looked at me) I knew this was a good time to leave.  After all, he had a gun.  So I slowly backed away until I felt it was safe to run, which I did.

After standing in several more lines I finally got to the point where they took my picture for my driver’s license.  When I got to see the picture I was positive I had been trapped in a time warp and I was now 80 years old.  I don’t know how they do it but I’m pretty sure they have a way of gathering up all of the wrinkles, age spots and other disfiguring marks on a face that have been photos shopped out of pictures and put them into the DMV camera that then go onto the driver’s license pictures.

Next, much to my surprise I had to take a written driver’s test.  They don’t make new people to Nevada do that.  There the driving laws are whatever you can get away with.  Anyway, after answering questions like, “If there is a double yellow line in the middle of the road and orange cones on the side of the road and the traffic light just turned red how much to you have to pay to bribe the cop to not give you a speeding ticket.”  I passed the test.  You are allowed to miss 6 questions and that’s what I did so grading on a curve I had a perfect score.

Finally, I had only one more obstacle before I could finish my day in hell.  I had to get my car a smog test.  Not surprisingly, it costs twice as much for a smog test in California than it does in Nevada.  That’s a concept I’m getting used to quickly.

At last I was done.  I’m guessing this whole ordeal was some weird sort of initiation test to see if they’ll let me stay in California.  I apparently passed because they let me have a license.  Now I just have to find out how much to bribe the cop because I missed that question on the test.

darnfunnyonline.com

This week we have our occasional guest columnist back to spew more of her venom….uh, I mean advice to our readers.

Let’s welcome Dear Crabby.  How are you, Crabby?

“I’m doing well, in spite of that introduction.  I heard that you have a book that will be released on darnfunnyonline.com in the next week or two.”

Thanks for mentioning that Crabby, yes, look for it on the website and newsletter.  The title is “How to Romance a Woman and Other Crap Like That.”  I’m excited about it.  Gee, I’m not used to you being so nice, Crabby.

“You said you were going to pay me to plug your book.  You’re still paying me aren’t you?”

Um, ah, yeah we’ll talk about that later. (I was trying to stay in character, since we really don’t like each other very much…yeah, the check is in the mail.)

Anyway, now that that’s over, I’ll turn it over to you Crabby.

“It’s about time.  Our first letter is from a man who doesn’t think he has to help his wife unpack after moving.  He signs his letter, ‘Moving.’”

MOVING:  My wife and I moved into a new house recently.  I had to do all the heavy lifting when we moved the boxes and now she wants me to help her unpack too.  I felt like my work was over once I got the boxes into the house.  What do you think, Crabby?

CRABBY:  Dear Moving, I hope you don’t expect me to be moved by your letter.  If I was you wife the only thing I’d be moving is my foot up your ass.  What is it with you lazy men?  You do a little work and you want all this sympathy.  I’m guessing your wife did all the packing, arranged the move and even helped you move a lot of the boxes into the house.  Get off your lazy butt, which I’m guessing is growing as we speak, and help you sweet wife out a little bit.

“The next letter is from another shiftless male complaining about his wife.  He signs his letter, ‘Town Crier.’”

Town Crier:  Every time my wife wants something it seems like she turns on the waterworks.  When she cries then I always give in.  I feel like I’m being manipulated.  Am I being too soft with her, Crabby?

Crabby:  Dear Town Crier, I’m pretty sure the only thing soft about you is your head.  If you ever let her have anything without crying maybe she wouldn’t have to cry all the time.  You men disgust me.  If I had you here, I’d show you a thing or two about…

Whoa, whoa, Crabby.  This is Steve again.  I had to interrupt because it sounds like you are being even more hostile than normal.  I mean you are usually kind of a…uh, well, bitch is the only word I can think of, but this is ridiculous.

“Fine, we’ll go to the next letter.”

We don’t have time for anymore letters, Crabby.  Plus, I’m afraid you’ll scare off the readers.

“No time!? That’s because you did that shameless plug in the beginning.”

It wouldn’t have been shameless if you kept your mouth shut about the money.

(Smiling evilly.)  Glad I could help.

darnfunnyonline.com

Taco Bell is being sued because there is less than 35% beef in their “meat,” the rest is just fillers .  The law suit is essentially claiming that there is more beef at a pool party of Ethiopians than there is in Taco Bell meat.

While it is a misnomer to call something meat that isn’t really meat, it is also incorrect to call most fast food, food.  While a lot of it tastes good going down you often get to keep tasting it for quite a while afterward and it’s not nearly as good the 2^nd and 3^rd time around.

If there were labels on fast food they would be required to have disclaimer statements that read something like, “If you bite into our food and you think you bit into cardboard and now want to sue us forget it, that was actually the food, ha-ha.”

The next time you bite into a chicken nugget from a fast food place you may want to ponder what it is a nugget of.

If fast food was compared to a relationship it would be like a series of one night stands.  That is unless you are firmly committed to one particular establishment, no t to mention any names, but if, for example, your favorite place promotes that there have been billions served, then you are probably a guy who goes out of his way to date really ugly fat girls.  In fairness, and not to be sexist, for a girl it would be someone who dates fat ugly guys.  And I do emphasize the fat because if this is the food you are eating you are probably already really fat yourself.

If fast food were politics there would be a lot of sleazy, slimy, backroom deals being made and it would get worse the bigger the fast food chain/government became… oh, never mind then, fast food and politics are already the same.

You sometimes hear about a rat or mouse or something else equally disgusting being found in fast food.  But it sounds like Taco Bell could increase the percentage of their meat in their “meat” if they weren’t so diligent about keeping the rodents out of the food.  Then again maybe they aren’t that diligent and that’s how they are getting 35% of their meat to be classified as meat.

Even the toys given out by some fast food chains can be hazardous to your health.  And this is not just because the kids try to eat the toys rather than the food.  There have been numerous instances of toy recalls because of the paint or dye (also known as die) on the toys, etc. etc.

I have to admit, though, the fast food mascots are actually pretty cool.  And they do make really good commercials.  I have to say I’m partial to Jack, from Jack–in-the-box commercial fame, with the Burger King, King coming in as a close second.  Now if they could just get the level of the food up to the level of the commercials I might be enticed to eat some of their food.  Even Taco Bell used to put out some good commercials back when they had the Chihuahuas in their ads.  Whatever happened to those ads?… Hey, wait a minute.  Maybe that is the source of how they are getting their meat up to the level of 35% actual meat.

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It’s almost that time of year again that when the clock strikes midnight people can justify acting liked a wronged postal worker… but in a good way.  It is a way to bring in the new year, plus it gives people the opportunity to say, “I’ll act like a crazy person just this once and then I’ll resolve to do great things…but it’s really not a commitment because everybody breaks their resolutions anyway, but it feels good to say it at least.”

People sometimes make their New Year’s resolutions when they are hung over and you get things like world leaders resolving to solve difference with warring countries by playing best of three “paper, rock, scissors.”  Then after they sober up they go back to being cranky old psychos who want to blow up the whole world except the part where they are standing.  You also get men resolving to never leave the toilet seat up after going to the bathroom.  But that’s only because when they were drunk they missed the toilet altogether so they figured there is no harm in making that resolution since they’re just not going to bother putting it up anymore.

Men, being the lazy, insensitive louts that we are, like to make resolutions that make us look good and also require very little work on our part. For example, something one of us might do is resolve to make every February 29^th a day dedicated to their wife.  She gets everything she ever wanted done for her on that day.  Of course, since that only comes up once every four years you can hope your wife forgets or in the fine print of that resolution  he can add “unless I’m not up to it for some reason (and that can include any reason I might come up with at that time).”

A woman would probably not make a man stick to his resolutions in regards to her, but a man would definitely make a woman do so. That’s because women are actually much nicer than men.  And you can tell that in their resolutions.  Men will often make their resolutions in the negative, like Larry King telling his wife he won’t cheat on her with her sister anymore…this would still make cousins and other relatives fair game.  Or the Burger King Mascot  might resolve to always give his first Whopper of the day only to his wife.  Or Roman Polanski might resolve to only have strictly consensual sex with underage girls.  Or Bo the White House dog could promise his wife that he would never have sex with any other bitch but her.

This is what men are like. We are selfish and tend to only think of ourselves.  Women are sweet and virtuous and always have been.

If it seems like I’m being unusually kind to women here it’s because I made a resolution to be nicer to women in my articles.  Now I can check that one off as a done and get back to normal in my next article. Whew! That’s a relief!

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President Obama apparently got a visit from the ghost of Christmas future, which made him realize the right thing to do was to give a gift to all the poor children whose parents make more than $250,000 a year.  Of course, the Democrats may assert that he got a visit from the Devil, but it’s all a matter of perspective.

Instead of seeing a grave site in his future like Scrooge saw in the classic Dickens tale, Obama saw himself sitting in a retirement chair in 2012, which to a power hungry politician is the same as a grave site.

I’m guessing it went something like the following.  When Obama got the visit from the ghost of Christmas future, who he dreaded the most of all the Christmas spirits, he first saw Hillary Clinton haggling over his belongings while she was preparing to run for election in 2012.

Next the ghost of Christmas future took him to see “tiny” Joe Biden.  He was “tiny” not because he was short in physical stature but short or “tiny” in his ability to think and talk at the same time.  He got to view a conversation from the future:

Tiny Joe:  Hi, Mr. President, how the f___ are you?  Why so glum?

Obama:  I just lost the primary, to Hillary Clinton of all people.  I thought I had her bought off with that Secretary of State post.

Tiny Joe:  Oh well, It’s not a big f___ing deal.  We had four years.  Our time is passed.  Hey, I know, we can blame Bush for not getting re-elected.

Obama:  It is a big deal, you idiot.  We almost had the whole country turned communist.  Now, I won’t be able to make it happen.

Tiny Joe shrugs and walks off.  The ghost of Christmas future and Obama fast forward to a room where they see Tiny Joe’s head soaking in a jar of formaldehyde.

Obama:  What happened to him?

Ghost:  You shot him after the last scene we just saw and now they are studying his brain to try to figure out how someone so stupid could advance so far in the political scene.  You spent the rest of your life in prison, where you lobbied for prisoners to get free cigarettes from the government.

Obama:  Hmmm…Still, I did get to shoot Biden, so every cloud does have a silver lining.

They fast forward to a new scene.  Obama walks into Ben Bernake’s office:

Obama:  Hi Uncle Ben.  Even though I’m not going to be President anymore will you still be able to print money for me any time I want it.

Bernake shakes the shackles that father time has pinned him with due to all his financial transgressions and he shouts at the top of his lungs:

Ben:  No, you moron, not another dime for you.  I’m going to have to fake another bailout to the big companies so they force their employees and unions to vote for Hillary.  Yeah, she’s a bitch, but at least she’s not a Republican.

Obama wakes up and finds himself in the Lincoln Room of the White House.  He sees the ghost of Lincoln staring him in the face.

Obama:  Abe is it really you?

Lincoln:  (Sarcastically) No, I’m that commie Franklin D. Roosevelt?  Of course, I’m Abe.  But if you don’t straighten up your act you’re going to end up here with us other presidential ghosts and you’ll be treated just like we all treat Roosevelt.  Nobody likes him very much, not even Truman.

Obama:  What should I do Abe?

Lincoln:  Work with the Republican’s for starters.

Obama:  I will, Abe, I will.

Obama ran out of the room and he was true to his word.  He did work with the Republicans, at least to the degree that he thought it would get him re-elected.

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