Tag Archives: humor

Car Wars and the Modern Day Road Warrior

The other week, my dearest aunt, who is 91 years old and no longer drives, asked me to drive her to a medical appointment. Naturally, I was happy to do her the favour.

Now, to a 91-year-old, getting out of the house, even if only for a visit to the doctor’s, can be quite an event. For days, from the way she talked about it, you would think she was going on a long journey. Seriously, I was surprised she didn’t bring luggage. Anyway, I picked her up and off we drove.

Traffic was very heavy that day and on numerous occasions I was forced to drive a little more aggressively than usual. Needless to say, I had to bend a couple of road rules along the way. As it would happen, I didn’t yield or merge or yerge or mield or whatever it is you’re supposed to do when you see one of these bothersome road signs.

Personally, I always thought a yield sign meant ‘hurry up and merge’ – so, in very thick traffic, I abruptly zipped into the traffic flow. My auntie was not amused.

“My dear, dear boy!” (Translation: You stupid, stupid boy). “You’re not supposed to do that.” (Translation: You are an idiot!).

“I have to get a little aggressive auntie to get you there on time.” I replied.

“If you don’t get me to an early grave first.” She replied.

To be sure, a “Merge” sign is very important as it indicates that two lanes of traffic must blend into one. This is a very important road sign because the laws of physics clearly state that two cars cannot occupy the same space at the same time – unless of course, you’re in parallel universes.

(These two vehicles are obviously in the same universe).

Now, my aunt has always been a little apprehensive when it came to my driving. You see, as a teenager I developed a “reputation” in our family as being a bit unrefined behind the wheel. OK, perhaps my ‘wild behind the wheel’ reputation was a bit deserved as, like many other testosterone toxic teenaged twits back then, only three of the cars’ controls seemed to matter to me; the gas pedal, the steering wheel and, of course, the volume control on the radio. Things like signal indicators, hazard lights and that pedal thing on the floor that, from what it claims in the manual, will actually make the car slow down, well…

Traffic was heavier than usual as I checked my rear and side view mirrors for an opportunity. I needed to make a lane change to get over to my exit. All I needed was the smallest gap so that I could nose my car in. I seized the first opportunity, swiftly squeezing my car into the next lane to the dismayed honk of another driver.

“Oh my gawd!” My auntie shrieked. “Only crazy people do things like that. Have you completely lost your mind?”

“But I had plenty of room auntie.” I pleaded.

“You may think so, but that driver is waving at you – and he’s only using one finger.” She retorted. “You didn’t even signal.”

My aunt comes from the old school of driving – the one where they still give right away to horse drawn carts and always use their signal indicator. If you’re not sure what that is, it’s that annoying little knobby doo-hicky thing attached to the steering column that seems to be connected to that irritating little green arrow light that flashes on your dashboard display.

In defense of my failure to signal, years ago while commuting daily into Toronto, I learned that while negotiating bumper-to-bumper traffic, it was better not to signal your intent. If you do, all the other drivers will immediately know what you’re up to and they’ll close up all the gaps.

Seriously, whenever I signal, I can almost hear all the other drivers conspire.

“Stop him! He’s trying to make a lane change!”

Then, gnashing their teeth in anger, they all squeeze up close together and pretend not to notice me – and then I don’t get to exit until I’m 250 miles down the road, in Detroit!

If you want to get anywhere in heavy traffic, it’s best to take the other drivers by surprise with a swift, spur-of-the-moment lane change. Seriously, in the rare occurrence when the traffic gods smile upon you and some guy actually lets you in, it doesn’t mean he’s a nice guy. It probably means he wasn’t paying attention.

Anyway, as we neared the doctors’ office, it seemed that every car on the road was in an awful hurry. Then, a traffic light turned yellow as one, two, three and finally our car zipped through the intersection as I watched the yellow light change to red.

“To think, I survived a Nazi occupation in World War II but it will be a trip to the doctors in 2014 that will be the end of me.”

“Oh auntie, it’s not so bad.” I defended.

“Oh nothing!” She argued. “I shouldn’t have had that bran muffin for breakfast because now, because of your maniacal driving, things are… are…, well, they’re moving. There’s a Denny’s. I’m going to need a pit stop.”

I stopped and my aunt went inside.

I Am A Road Warrior

These days, we modern day road warriors must battle for every inch of pavement we can get. Courteous driving only bewilders the other drivers. Trust me, it’s better if you just yell, flip them the bird and then try to run them off the road.

Anyway, I got my aunt to her appointment safely – that is if you don’t count her elevated blood pressure. It seems that my aunt’s blood pressure was a bit on the high side when her doctor checked.

Auntie said the doctor was pleased with her over all health but was a bit concerned about her high blood pressure – not to mention the pale, wild-eyed look of terror on her face. My aunt assured him that she was fine and that her blood pressure will be idyllic next time – when she takes the bus.

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Calling All Phone Monkeys

by timo cerantola

Telephone solicitations have become a problem at our house as we’ve been getting far too many of them lately, especially at supper time. As a result, we have now instituted a house rule on all telephone solicitations. The answer is always no. We do not do business with telemarketers and we don’t care whether they’re calling to save us money or give us money.

I even wrote a little poem for when telemarketers call.

“Our carpets are clean, our ducts are sucked and our lawn we never spray. Our driveway is sealed, we’re eating right now so please, just go away.”

So, the other night at supper, when the phone rang as per usual, I answered.

“Good evening Mr. Seranantaranoli, my name is Wilma Flintstone and I’m with “yada-yada” (name withheld to protect the guilty) incorporated. I’m calling to offer you something ‘special’. Do you feel you have enough insurance?”

I used my poem on her. She called me a nut and hung up. So I guess the poem works.

Last night I should have used the poem again but I broke our telephone solicitation rule when I heard her voice. When asked if I had the time, I said, with my mouth full, “(crunch, munch) sure, I guess so (munch, crunch). What can I do for you? She had a really nice voice. It kind of felt like I was talking to Angelina Jolie (whom I’ve had a crush on since I was 43).

“Could you answer a few questions for our survey?” She began with her sexy Angelina Jolie voice.

“I guess so Angelina, uh, I mean, sure, absolutely.” I gushed.

Question # 1 “Do you own or rent?” She asked.

“Are you selling home improvements?” I queried. “No, it’s just a survey.” She said.

“We own.” I replied.

#2. “Do you have area or wall to wall carpeting?”

“Wall to wall.” I replied. “Are you selling carpet cleaning?”

“No!” She said. “It’s just a marketing survey.

# 3. What type of vacuum do you own, upright or canister?”

“Ah ha!” I bursted. “Vacuum cleaners. You’re selling vacuum cleaners.” I exclaimed triumphantly.

“No!!!” She said.

“Canister.” I sputtered.

#4. What brand name is your lawn mower?”

You’re oddly curious, I thought. “The Sears brand.” I answered. “What in God’s name are you selling?” I blurted.

If she wasn’t trying to sell me something, maybe she was surreptitiously trying to indoctrinate me into some weird telephone sales cult. She was trying to turn me into some kind of mindless marketing moonie!

“Hurry up and tell me what it is I’m not buying!” I demanded.

She wouldn’t, so I politely said good night and put the phone down. I never did find out what it was that I didn’t want.

Oh well, the next time some phone monkey calls me, I have a new plan. Next time I’m going to say, “Sorry, I can’t talk right now but give me your home number and I’ll call you back when I’m free. By the way, what time do you usually have supper?

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February 17, 2014 · 1:38 pm

The Chocolate Lover’s Creed?

For as long as I can remember, I have suffered with a severe addiction to chocolate. Yes, hello, my name is Tim and I’ve got a bad case of the chocolate jones. I just polished off a Toblerone bar an hour ago.

For me, it all started a few years back when I was accidentally exposed to some astonishingly good chocolate imported from Belgium. There were several people in the room when the box was opened though I was closest, receiving by far the greatest amount of exposure. Within minutes of contact with the substance, symptoms started to appear as my eyes glazed over and then, like some zoned-out zombie, I mindlessly placed my hand over my heart and started to recite the chocolate lovers creed.

“I believe in chocolate. A paste made of the pounded seeds of the cacao tree and blended with sugar, milk and or cream. I believe in Chocolate, one of the prime substances that make life worth living; Chocolate, mixed with truffles, nuts or caramel; often found in the shape of Santa Claus, bunnies, bars and, of late, hearts. I believe God created the universe in six days and that he used five of those days just working on the recipe for chocolate. As a protector of the chocolate way of life, I promise to, in case of attack, defend all chocolate factories, candy bar outlets and the city of Hershey Pennsylvania from all anti-chocolate factions. I pledge my life to the pursuit of chocolate everywhere.”

To those of you not afflicted with these abnormally high chocolate drives, this may all seem a bit ludicrous however, I believe one day medical science will verify that some people are born with an unusually high susceptibility to chocolate.

Only another chocolate fetishist could know the shame of this fiendish addiction. The disgrace and humiliation one feels when having to tell your own child that you bit off a piece of her Peter Rabbit chocolate Easter Bunny in a mad uncontrollable psycho-choco eating frenzy.

The poor child, sadness in her eyes as she looked at the tooth-scared remains of her bunny with half his ear chewed off – then, casting a disdainful glance at her shameless father, a telling chocolate ring moustache around his mouth, looking sheepish and ashamed, “Oh Daddy, not again!”

“I’m so sorry, honey. You know daddy can’t control himself around chocolate. Please, if you can forget this whole chocolate mess and don’t tell your mother, I’ll buy you three brand new Peter Rabbit chocolate bunnies tomorrow!”

But she just stared at me and shook her head. She’d seen it before. Her father can’t hold his chocolate. There he stands, seemingly sincere and apologetic but that glazed zombie-look in his eyes and his hollow chocolate bunny smile tell a different story. A story that one day, they’ll find her chocolate thieving father lying in a gutter stinking of cocoa butter, dressed in rags and eating a family sized Cadbury almond bar out of a paper bag.

I know this all seems over the top but, if you think I am the only one who thinks about chocolate this way, you’ve got a lot to learn. We chocolate extremists are legion and we are growing. It’s only a matter of time before we get our own political lobby and start demanding chocolate be considered a human right protected under the constitution. Remember this warning, chocolate addiction knows no boundaries. It could be your mother, your father, your neighbor or your doctor. It could even be your clergyman.

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February 13, 2014 · 11:36 am

Hey Bonehead, don’t forget Valentines Day!

It’s tough for men to find new gift ideas so soon after Christmas. Valentine’s Day only piles on added stress and, thanks in large part to those weasels at Hallmark Cards, we men are now required to add a special romantic flair to our gift or we’re toast.

On Valentine’s Day men are under tremendous pressure with a special gift that represents how much we love. Seriously, will she hate it? Will she love it? Will she be thrilled? If she throws it at me, will it hurt much?

Granted, a good gift on February 14th and you’re clear right through to the play-offs. Indeed, one thoughtful, well-placed gift here will almost make up for the fact you were born a man.

Each year, statistically speaking, 1 billion Valentines are sent, making Valentine’s Day the second largest card giving day after Christmas. And women are responsible for 85% of all Valentine card purchases. As a side note, condom manufacturer Durex claims its sales rise(?) approximately 25% on February 14th – not to mention more do-it-yourself home pregnancy kits are sold in March than in any other month.

Years ago, in my more romantic days, I took Valentine’s Day quite seriously. Back then, I was working at an advertising studio in Toronto and so, I used to write and illustrate my own cards to send to my wife. My favourite theme was usually “Tim the love God” – which was basically a cartoon caricature of me adorned in gold chains, designer clothes, sun glasses, a chest toupee and all the other things that make women go crazy with desire.

Kids always have it easy when it comes to Valentine’s. They hand out those little cut-out cards at school and, for their mom, they’ll make her some crafty, sticky, paper heart-shaped card with glue splishing out all over the place and naturally, she’ll love it.

“Isn’t that cute.” She’ll titter with delight. “My kids made these especially for me with their own little hands.”

Of course, the man is the one responsible for a more substantial Valentine presentation – and it damn well better make her friggin’ titter or he’s in trouble. He needs a gift that will keep that naked little freaktoid Cupid at bay for another year.

Splishing some glue all over some card to give to her for Valentines will probably get your nose splished all over your face! Personally, I’d like to splish glue all over that Cupid and stick him to a fire hydrant in a dog park.

Now when it comes to love and romance, William Shakespeare knew a thing or two when it came to Valentine time. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…“.

You see, back in the olden days, that’s all it took. A little poetry and not much else probably kept Bill Shakespeare’s girlfriend happy for the whole year! But in our material world, poetry alone wont cut it because, “How do I love thee, let me count the ways” has devolved into, how do I love thee, let me count my money.

As for poetry, the only poem I know from beginning to end is “Jack and Jill went up the hill…” and I can guarantee you my wife doesn’t want to hear that while we’re making out.

Now, let’s look at the historical facts of romance. Seriously men, the last thing you really want is to be known as a romantic. Really, think of all the most famous romantics and what Valentines did for them.

Remember Romeo of Romeo and Juliet fame?

The guy who practically invented romance got so messed up on love, he ended up killing himself. Indeed, the list of dead romantics is long.

Lancelot of Lancelot and Guinevere? Dead.

Tristan of Tristan and Isolde? Dead.

Paris of Paris and Helen of Troy? Dead.

Samson of Samson and Delilah? Bald and Dead!

And finally, what about Pepe?

No, not that Pepe! For once in your lives keep your minds out of your pants. I’m talking about Pepe Le Pew the lovesick skunk. That poor skunk never even made it to first base with that cat – and then they cancelled his cartoon show.

So you see, most romantics either end up dead, bald and dead or as out-of-work cartoons! Doesn’t say much for romance does it?

Seriously ladies, if you really must know, the quickest way to your man’s heart is through his chest – with a sharp knife.

Anyways guys, Valentine’s approaches. Here’s a solid romantic gift line up. Pick any two: Flowers, chocolate, tickets to a play, candy, jewellery, a love letter, a romantic walk and dinner at a restaurant (and not McDonald’s you cheap bastards).

So, I hope you guys manage to find a way not to screw up like you did at Christmas. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. You thought she’d love the snow blower. Save her from all that shoveling. That’s what you get when you ask for gift ideas from ‘Biff’ at the hardware store. Think FLOWERS, bonehead! I hate these damned tests of love.

“When I saw you I fell in love,

and you smiled because you knew.”

William Shakespeare

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The Apocalypse Quiz

By Timo Cerantola

According to many psychics, religious fundamentalists and doomsday enthusiasts (who are all, more or less, the same people), the prophesied final battle between good and evil is imminent.

In fact, these apocalyptic predictions are taken so seriously by so many, that a very profitable “end times” industry has emerged to service this growing need for pain, suffering, annihilation and ruin. True. The fans of death and destruction are many and they are willing to pay for a daily dosage of doom and gloom by way of newspapers, books and movies.

Granted, in view of recent world events, our collective demise doesn’t seem like as much of a stretch as it used to – especially when a fear mongering corporate media cheers from the sidelines, selling war and death along with their regular daily offerings of natural disasters, disease, pestilence and crime.

Still, despite this marketing of doom and prophetic pretentiousness, as far as I’m concerned, this end of the world business is nothing but mindless nonsense and Nostradamus is just a great name for a new sinus medication.

However, just in case I’m wrong and ‘final judgment’ will soon be upon us, perhaps you should prepare yourselves with some end times knowledge and take this, The Apocalypse Quiz.

Question number 1…

When the end of the world occurs, what is the most important thing for you to remember?

a) To hide in your basement with plenty of guns and ammo.
b) The Pledge of Allegiance.
c) Your faith in God’s love and your eternal soul.
d) To bring clean underwear.

2. Complete this next sentence. The end of the world will occur…

a) When planet Nibiru collides with the earth later this year.
b) When the DOW drops below 5,000 (later this year).
c) When the “fat lady” sings.
d) Due to unprecedented levels of stupidity in Washington, Moscow, Beijing…

3. When looking for signs of the end times, we are told to look for…

a) Great signs in the heavens

b) “www-endtimes-com” on the Internet

c) An increase in global disasters

d) an increase in homeowner insurance premiums.

4. In the end, according to Jesus’ Beatitudes who will inherit the earth?

a) The Federal Reserve
b) Bill Gates Jr.
c) Vladimir Putin
d) The “meek” (minus the usual 15% in lawyers fees).

5. What is meant by “the rapture?”

a) Something that can happen when you pick up a really heavy object.
b) A Toronto basketball player.
c) It’s when God rescues His faithful before the battle of Armageddon.
d) It’s the feeling I’ll get when the Toronto Maple Leafs finally win
the Stanley Cup again.

6. It is said when Jesus returns; he will set up his earthly kingdom in.

a) New York
b) New Jersey
c) Disney World (next to Epcot)
d) The New Jerusalem

7. Which of the following 2 characters did NOT help Dorothy find her way to the Emerald City?

a) The Scarecrow
b) The Anti-Christ
c) The Tin Man
d) The False Prophet
e) The Cowardly Lion

8. In the 11th century, Malachy, an Irish Bishop, made a series of predictions listing the remaining 112 Popes leading up to Armageddon. According to Malachi, only one Pope remains after our present Pope Frances. Pick the correct one…

a) Pope Peter, the Roman.
b) Pope Obama, the lame duck
c) Pope Arnold, the Schwartzenegger.
d) Pope Bernanke – the Pope of Wall Street.

9. Which of the following is NOT an Edgar Cayce prophecy?

a) Atlantis will rise from the depths of the Atlantic.
b) A cataclysmic earthquake change will cause the Great Lakes
to drain into the Gulf of Mexico.
c) California and Japan will sink into the Pacific Ocean.
d) Pizza will be delivered within 30 minutes – or it’s free.

And finally…

10. What have the prophets really been trying to warn mankind of for these many centuries?

a) Of the many earth changes to come.
b) That the mark of “the Beast” is just a bad haircut.
c) That the words prophet and profit are surprisingly similar.
d) That like P.T. Barnum said, there’s a sucker born every minute.

YOUR QUIZ SCORE: Who cares? The end is near for Pete’s sake. For once in your life stop trying to be such a smarty-pants!

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