Showing posts with label satire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label satire. Show all posts

Monday, January 5, 2015

My Cause of Death



My Cause of Death
I’ve been sick and unable to connect to the Internet, which is, as Mitch Hedberg might’ve said: “A double whammy!” 

Still not feeling 100 %, and still can’t connect to the Internet, but I’m at the public library, where I hope I’m not becoming Patient Zero, the sneezy schlepp who inadvertently causes a mass pandemic that wipes out a humongous chunk of the population Bubonic Plague style. Not the way I wanna go. Yo!

Whenever I’m sick, I ponder what will be written as My Cause of Death. 

Being a comedian, part of me thinks it’d be great to have my demise be Something Silly. 

Like I was finger-painting the kitchen and got zapped when I tried to make the electrical socket purple. 

Or I juggled grenades and accidentally pulled out one of the pins. 

Or I tried to pet the pretty little platypus, which, at the moment of my demise, I suddenly recall from a report I wrote in sixth grade that her hind legs inject poison. 

Or maybe even Something Ironic, like I drowned trying to save a lifeguard. 

“Isn’t ironic? 
Yeah, I really do think.” 
-- Alanis Morissette. 

But since I’m more than just a comedian, Something Silly or Something Ironic aren’t really the ways I want to go. 

On the other hand, I don’t want to die of Something Serious either. Like being murdered, because that only enables the killer’s homicidal tendencies; and no one wants that, especially the victims. 

Or dying of some horrific disease, whether it’s merely the sniffles gone awry; or some major league disease that people refer to as “The Big” and then they add the first letter of the disease. Like “The Big R” for rickets. 

 Or “The Big Silent P” for pneumonia.

So, in keeping with The Secret, I focus on my autopsy report listing My Cause of Death as None. That way I never die and live forever. In which case, I’ll sue the coroner who performs the autopsy on me! Or get him disbarred, defrocked, or whatever they do to coroners gone bad. At the very least, take away his formaldehyde aftershave. 

But then again, with The Secret, by focusing on My Cause of Death being None, I’ll probably get murdered by an angry Mother Superior who slits my jugular with a plastic child-safe pencil sharpener. 

In which case, My Cause of Death will be All of the Above (a.k.a. A Quadruple Whammy!): Something Silly, Something Ironic, Something Serious, and Nun. 

So instead of fearing 
some nightmarish death, 
I’ll keep 
living the dream. 
;o) 

Welcome to 2015*, 
The Year of Dean! 
All The Best,
Dean Burkey
* Don’t know why it didn’t occur to me sooner that both 2013 and 2014 could’ve been my years too, since they also rhyme with Dean! 


Photo Source: 
http://www.sherv.net/laughing-emoticons.html





All iPad mini™ with Retina® display on Sale, Plus Free Shipping, Exclusions Apply
Posted by at No comments:
Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

The Great Divide


 
Photo Source: 
Lonely Planet Grand Canyon National Park (Travel Guide)

Well, the divorce is final. It was a tough, demoralizing, debilitating battle, but at last, I’m finally free. I’m no longer married to myself. 

 
Photo Source: Hulk [Blu-ray]

I’m happy and sad all at the same time. Like when the first Hulk movie came out. Happy there was a Hulk movie, but sad it turned out the way it did. 

 
Photo Source: All By Myself

I’m happy I divorced myself, but I still feel sad. After all, I’d known me my whole life. And sure, I can be fun. But after hanging around me all that time, I started getting on my nerves. Can I not do any other funny voices than Brian Regan? 

 
Photo Source: We Can Work It Out

And I could even put up with that. What bugged me though. Was I always wanted things done my way. I tried to work things out, but in the end, I saw no other recourse than to divorce myself. 


On the bright side ladies, that means I’m available. But you’d better hurry, because I keep trying to get back with me. And sometimes, I feel so lonely, I actually entertain the thought of getting back with my ex. I find it hard to stay away from me. But what can I do? It’s like I’m everywhere I go. 


Bride Can't Stop Laughing During Wedding Vows


Uploaded on Sep 7, 2009 by

Razzle-Dazzle with Zazzle



 
Find the Lowest Car Insurance Rates!

Brian Regan at the improv

Uploaded on Jun 24, 2007 by

Posted by at No comments:
Labels: , , , , , , , ,

Friday, September 19, 2014

Fast Food Follies


Fast Food Follies
“Fast Food Follies”

 Long before we bark our orders into a broken intercom, the fast food we crave has already dreamed and thrived, lived and died, in a heated world of grub gone wild.
“McLovin’”

 Duke, the Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese, partied all night making moves on both Francesca, a large order of French fries, and Apollonia, a hot apple pie. When those two women got wind of Duke’s game, they snubbed him cold. 

 Still feeling lascivious, Duke sought out Francine, a small order of fries. She felt flattered at first to receive so much attention from such a big burger, but he proved to be too fast a food for her taste, groping and kissing her against her will. She cried for help. 

 Melvin, a plain, single-patty burger, marched over to Francine’s house to invite her to watch a whimsical comedy at the McMovie McTheater. Although she already turned him down twice that week, he hoped for the best. Hearing her scream, he tried to bust down her door. After contracting several contusions, he checked under the mat and found a key. Only the key didn’t work, because Duke had turned the security latch. So Melvin crashed through a window and rushed inside as Duke ripped off Francine’s pink skirt. Francine shrieked. 

Melvin grabbed a metal McLamp and pummeled Duke into a McComa. Even lying under a heat lamp would not resuscitate him anytime soon. Melvin wrapped Francine in a silver blanket and used his sleeves to wipe away her tears and smeared mascara. 

 Francine sobbed. “I wasn’t ready. But Duke didn’t want to wait.” 

 “Shhh. Don’t try to talk. Everything will be all right.” Melvin soothed and caressed her. After a few heavy sighs, he said, “I should take you to the McHospital.” 

 “No, not yet.” Francine breathed deeply, then cooed, “You never gave up on me.” 

 Melvin smiled. “And I never will.” 

 “I wasn’t ready before, but now I am.” 

“Okay. Pack a change of clothes; and we’ll head to the McHospital.” 

 “No, not that.” Francine beamed. 

 “Then what? What are you ready for?” 

 Francine cast off her silver blanket and kissed Melvin. 

“Oh.” 

 Melvin’s McLovin’ fantasies came true that night; and thus was born the Happy Meal. 
“Chicken Stuff”

 Oswald, an original recipe chicken, longed to be with a spicy chicken strip named Serena, but extra crispy chicken Eddie had his claws into her. Oswald possessed prestige, but Eddie’s physique sported a crusty surface that even the spiciest strips found alluring. Eddie pretended he didn’t care, that he just wanted to get Serena’s eggs laid, but he bawled the night she left him. Marinating himself every midnight in Fiery Buffalo, dipping his skinny in Honey BBQ with any chick he could find, and crying out at the cloudless sky, “Cluck you, Mother Clucker!”

 Serena enjoyed raw animal magnetism as much as any other chicken, but held higher aspirations than a simple cole slaw and buttered roll combo. She yearned to be part of a Variety Big Box Meal. She told herself she wasn’t concerned about the money or the fine trimmings. She even convinced herself that Oswald made her feel special, like more than just a piece of meat; and that being with him transcended a mere fast food experience, akin to culinary ecstasy. And so, Serena surrendered to Oswald’s foul desires and moved in with him. 

 Heartbroken and jacked up on coke, Eddie broke into Oswald’s penthouse apartment to win back Serena, but his switchblade proved no match for Oswald’s blunt 38. Before falling twelve stories and slamming into a dumpster, Eddie blurted, “Aw, bucket!” 

 After mourning a month and a half for Eddie, Serena married Oswald. Within three years they had enough popcorn chicken clucking around to fill two buckets. Oddly though, the firstborn boasted an alluring crusty surface. 
“For Whom the Taco Tolls”

 The Chalupas and the Gorditas rumbled to see who’d reign supreme. No tortilla felt safe walking the streets with those two gangs at war. Every day a new taco got caught in the crossfire and spilled his seasoned ground beef and hot sauce onto the sidewalk. One half-expected spicy ones to splatter like that, but sadly, even mild sauces splattered too. 

 Bobby “Bean” Burrito sponsored a costume party at the condiment center. Carlos dressed as a masked conquistador; and Gina, a female Zorro. They dueled; they danced; they fell in love. Before the midnight removal of masks, Carlos received a call on his cell. Some Gorditas trashed his uncle’s garage and raped and killed his cousin. Poor Pepé. He never saw it coming. Carlos left abruptly, forgetting to exchange numbers with Gina. After visiting his uncle, he vowed vengeance and searched for some Gorditas to torture and kill. 

 Having changed out of her hot costume, Gina wandered around the grounds, praying for Carlos to return. Unfortunately for her, he did. Carlos knew a Gordita when he saw one. At least an unmasked Gordita. So he attacked Gina and stabbed her, to avenge his cousin. As life and chili sauce ebbed out of her body, her purse fell open and spilled onto the sidewalk. 

 Carlos gasped to find her Zorro mask. That night the rumble ended. Both sides had gone too far; but neither proved supreme. Although tranquility returned to Bell City, Carlos drowned himself every night with shot after shot of hot border sauce. 
~o~ ~o~
/\


Jerry Seinfeld: 
Have you ever noticed that the waiter 
who takes your order 
is not the one who brings your food anymore? 
What is that about? 
And which waiter are you tipping anyway? 
I think that next time I go to a restaurant I’ll just say, 
“Oh, sorry, I only eat the food. 
The guy who pays the bill will be along shortly.”

  

 Phyllis Diller: 
I do dinner in three phases: 
Serve the food. 
Clear the table. 
Bury the dead.

 Dean Burkey: 
He knew his lying accountant 
deserved the gas chamber, 
but unable to perform an execution himself, 
he instead gave him gift certificates 
for free extra spicy bean burritos at Taco Bell. 
Photo Source: 
Hot Dog Pet Food Dog Costume

 Steven Wright: 
I got food poisoning today. 
I don’t know when I’ll use it. 

 Mitch Hedberg: 
I went to a pizzeria. 
The guy gave me the smallest slice possible. 
If the pizza was a pie chart with 
what would you do if you found a million dollars, 
he gave me the “Donate it to charity” slice. 
“I’d like to exchange this for the ‘Keep it!’”


Full Throttle Fat Loss

WOODY ALLEN - 1964 - Standup Comedy

Published on May 5, 2014 by


Photo Source: 
Heinz Ketchup Dress - Small/Medium - Dress Size 4-10

Come Back Monday September 22, 2014
Posted by at 1 comment:
Labels: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Turn Signal Blues


I feel sorry for the inventor of the turn signal. 

Photo Source: 

Mister Signal, or maybe Ms. Turn, must feel so silly, or at the very least, somewhat inadequate, since so many people misuse or ignore such a clever device. 

Photo Source: 

You don’t turn it on as your turn. It’s called a signal! If you wait until you turn, you’re not signaling anybody. 

A turn signal’s a simple common courtesy to let others know your directional intentions. 

Photo Source: 
Danica: Crossing the Line

You can operate it with a flip of your pinky. If only more people would do so; we’d spend less time having to flip other fingers. 


 Mitch Hedberg: 
If I was a mechanic; 
and someone called me and said their car would not start, 
I would say, “Hey! Maybe a killer is after you!” 

 Dean Burkey: 
Super hottie Danica Patrick’s a great race care driver. 
But her vehicle has a major design problem 
for a woman of her exquisite looks. 
There’s no back seat!
Photo Source: 
Danica Patrick 8x10 Photo. #3295

 Dean Burkey: 
Oh, Danica Patrick, 
we’d be perfect together, 
except my Momma told me 
to stay away from fast women. 

 
Find the Lowest Car Insurance Rates!

 Ray Divine: 
To regenerate interest in the Indy 500, 
promoters do what they always do 
when they want to get more men interested in something; 
they got a hot girl! 

 Mitch Hedberg: 
I want to be a race car passenger. 
Just a guy who bugs the driver. 
“Say man, can I turn on the radio? 
You should slow down. 
Why do we gotta keep going in circles? 
Can I put my feet out the window? 
Boy, you really like Tide.” 


Air Wrench: 

Tony Stewart Pranks Danica Patrick 

at GoDaddy Commercial Shoot

Published on Jul 29, 2014 by


Photo Source: 
3WISHES 'Fast Lane Costume'
Sexy Race Car Driver Costumes for Women

Come Back Friday September 19, 2014 for: 
Fast Food Follies
Posted by at No comments:
Labels: , , , , , , , , , ,
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)