by
Dean Burkey
All the Best,
Mitch Hedberg:
I’m an ice sculptor.
Last night I made a cube.
Dean Burkey:
Why are so many people in America unhealthy?
Don’t all supermarkets carry Flintstone vitamins?
Chris Rock:
My mother is the kind of woman
you don’t want to be in line behind at the supermarket.
She has coupons for coupons.
George Carlin:
If you ate pasta and antipasti,
would you still be hungry?
Steven Wright:
When everything is coming your way,
you’re in the wrong lane.
Dean Burkey
Trapped in a net with Constable McBrody
and Captain McSquint.
At least McBrody used after shave.
But McSquint smelled like week-old fish.
But I couldn’t complain,
because I smelled like a messy diaper.
Thanks a lot alfalfa sprouts!
McSquint snarled.
“So that’s why they dubbed ya’ Mack Pooper!”
Couldn’t argue with that.
But still. He’s just mean. A real bully.
McSquint only came on the expedition to kill Nessie.
To have her stuffed and mounted
at his Legendary Corpses Emporium
would be a real boon to his lackluster tourist trap.
Maybe if he displayed better corpses
than a dead dwarf in a leprechaun suit
and a couple hollowed out Muppet puppets.
He already had the mounts ready
for both Nessie and Bigfoot.
But he’ll never catch Bigfoot in Scotland.
Not after Biggie got so seasick on our cruise to Bermuda.
Still, made me mad to think someone would think
of my dear friends merely as targets,
as animals to be stuffed and mounted as trophies.
Especially when Nessie and Biggie
both have more heart in their left flipper
or little furry left pinkie toe,
respectively,
than Captain McSquint had in his whole family tree.
The three of us struggled to break free to no avail.
In fact, the more we struggled,
the worse things got.
I pled, “Just stop! Everybody stop moving!
We’re only making it worse!”
McSquint snarled and thrashed.
“I’ve almost got it!”
McBrody drew his gun.
I wasn’t sure if he wanted to shoot me,
McSquint, or the net,
but he looked very intent
on shooting someone or something,
if only to relieve some stress.
As McBrody’s finger squeezed his trigger,
McSquint thrashed,
which shoved McBrody’s pistol in my face.
“Don’t shoot!”
“We won’t! And neither will you!”
A hand reached through the netting
and yanked away McBrody’s gun
before he could blast away my facial features.
“You?!”
I gawked to see the seedy-looking lad from the pub.
“You know I lied; right?”
“I’m not the one?”
“You were the one,
but you wouldn’t get in the water.
So we had to kill the girl instead.
But that’s not what I’m talking about.
I lied about us not shooting you.
Now that we have the Constable’s gun,
we can make it look the three of you turned on each other,
since you harpooned our imitation monster.”
I shifted my head to look at McBrody
and then McSquint to say: “He’s right.
Our turning on each other would be completely believable.”
The seedy-looking lad aimed McBrody’s gun at us.
I nudged McSquint,
knowing he’d throw a fit,
which made us start to sway.
“Oh, goodie! I love a moving target.”
The first of the seedy-looking lad’s cronies
nudged the seedy-looking lad and said,
“Three of them; three of us.
Why don’t we each shoot somebody?”
The seedy-looking lad sighed.
“Fair enough. But I get to kill the goofball yank.”
“Whew!” I said. “He’s going to shoot McSquint first.”
McBrody shook his head.
“Sorry mate, but you’re the only lad from the states.
Which makes you the only goofball yank.”
Realizing the implications of my forthcoming doom,
I thrashed even more,
making the net rock like never before.
Which would have been a perfect plan,
if only both McBrody and McSquint
hadn’t shoved me to the front of the net
to use me as a human shield.
The seedy-looking lad swayed in rhythm
with the swinging net as he took careful aim.
Gulp!
I knew my life had to end sometime.
Or at least I had the notion that it might.
Only I hoped my end would be a bit different.
Something along the lines of honeymooning too much
with my supermodel wife.
And/or drowning in a chocolate river.
“Please don’t shoot.
I’m too middle-aged to die.”
The seedy-looking lad smiled
as his right index finger tightened on the trigger.
Gulp!
KA-SPLASH-BLAM!!
TO BE CONTINUED …
A Real Blast
and Captain McSquint.
At least McBrody used after shave.
But McSquint smelled like week-old fish.
But I couldn’t complain,
because I smelled like a messy diaper.
Thanks a lot alfalfa sprouts!
McSquint snarled.
“So that’s why they dubbed ya’ Mack Pooper!”
Couldn’t argue with that.
But still. He’s just mean. A real bully.
McSquint only came on the expedition to kill Nessie.
To have her stuffed and mounted
at his Legendary Corpses Emporium
would be a real boon to his lackluster tourist trap.
Maybe if he displayed better corpses
than a dead dwarf in a leprechaun suit
and a couple hollowed out Muppet puppets.
He already had the mounts ready
for both Nessie and Bigfoot.
But he’ll never catch Bigfoot in Scotland.
Not after Biggie got so seasick on our cruise to Bermuda.
Still, made me mad to think someone would think
of my dear friends merely as targets,
as animals to be stuffed and mounted as trophies.
Especially when Nessie and Biggie
both have more heart in their left flipper
or little furry left pinkie toe,
respectively,
than Captain McSquint had in his whole family tree.
The three of us struggled to break free to no avail.
In fact, the more we struggled,
the worse things got.
I pled, “Just stop! Everybody stop moving!
We’re only making it worse!”
McSquint snarled and thrashed.
“I’ve almost got it!”
McBrody drew his gun.
I wasn’t sure if he wanted to shoot me,
McSquint, or the net,
but he looked very intent
on shooting someone or something,
if only to relieve some stress.
As McBrody’s finger squeezed his trigger,
McSquint thrashed,
which shoved McBrody’s pistol in my face.
“Don’t shoot!”
“We won’t! And neither will you!”
A hand reached through the netting
and yanked away McBrody’s gun
before he could blast away my facial features.
“You?!”
I gawked to see the seedy-looking lad from the pub.
“You know I lied; right?”
“I’m not the one?”
“You were the one,
but you wouldn’t get in the water.
So we had to kill the girl instead.
But that’s not what I’m talking about.
I lied about us not shooting you.
Now that we have the Constable’s gun,
we can make it look the three of you turned on each other,
since you harpooned our imitation monster.”
I shifted my head to look at McBrody
and then McSquint to say: “He’s right.
Our turning on each other would be completely believable.”
The seedy-looking lad aimed McBrody’s gun at us.
I nudged McSquint,
knowing he’d throw a fit,
which made us start to sway.
“Oh, goodie! I love a moving target.”
The first of the seedy-looking lad’s cronies
nudged the seedy-looking lad and said,
“Three of them; three of us.
Why don’t we each shoot somebody?”
The seedy-looking lad sighed.
“Fair enough. But I get to kill the goofball yank.”
“Whew!” I said. “He’s going to shoot McSquint first.”
McBrody shook his head.
“Sorry mate, but you’re the only lad from the states.
Which makes you the only goofball yank.”
Realizing the implications of my forthcoming doom,
I thrashed even more,
making the net rock like never before.
Which would have been a perfect plan,
if only both McBrody and McSquint
hadn’t shoved me to the front of the net
to use me as a human shield.
The seedy-looking lad swayed in rhythm
with the swinging net as he took careful aim.
Gulp!
I knew my life had to end sometime.
Or at least I had the notion that it might.
Only I hoped my end would be a bit different.
Something along the lines of honeymooning too much
with my supermodel wife.
And/or drowning in a chocolate river.
“Please don’t shoot.
I’m too middle-aged to die.”
The seedy-looking lad smiled
as his right index finger tightened on the trigger.
Gulp!
KA-SPLASH-BLAM!!
TO BE CONTINUED …
A Real Blast
Mitch Hedberg:
I’m an ice sculptor.
Last night I made a cube.
Dean Burkey:
Why are so many people in America unhealthy?
Don’t all supermarkets carry Flintstone vitamins?
Chris Rock:
My mother is the kind of woman
you don’t want to be in line behind at the supermarket.
She has coupons for coupons.
George Carlin:
If you ate pasta and antipasti,
would you still be hungry?
Steven Wright:
When everything is coming your way,
you’re in the wrong lane.
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