Garbled Greeting Cards, Riled-Up Rules & Punking the IRS
Plus: Doctor Seuss scandalized, great graffiti and why copiers are female.
When you care enough to send
someone else's very best . . Cupid
took awhile to arrive at Desert Diary World HQ (no doubt he was routed
through Las Cruces and Albuquerque, like the mails), so we present
this Valentine's Day poem by RH of Silver just
a tad late:
"The love of a beautiful maid,
The love of a staunch, true man,
The love of a baby unafraid
Has existed since time began.
But the greatest love. . . the love of loves. . .
Even greater than that of a mother,
Is the tender, intimate, passionate love
Of one drunken bum for another!"
Your own greeting-card creations, for better
or verse, are welcome at Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City,
NM 88062, fax 534-4134 or email diary@desertexposure.com.
Rules to live by. . . While
we're running a bit late, allow us to share these New Year's resolutions—of
a sort—submitted by Toni in the Vet's Office,
who titles them "Rules
for 2006":
- "Stop giving me that pop-up ad for Classmates.com!
There's a reason you don't talk to people for 25 years. Because you
don't particularly like them! Besides, I already know what the captain
of the football team is doing these days: mowing my lawn.
- "Don't eat anything that's served to you
out a window unless you're a seagull. People are acting all shocked
that a human finger was supposedly found in a bowl of chili. Hey, the
chili cost less than a dollar. What did you expect it to contain? Lobster?
- "Ladies, leave your eyebrows alone. Here's
how much men care about your eyebrows: Do you have two of them? OK,
we're done.
- "There's no such thing as flavored water.
There's a whole aisle of this crap at the supermarket. Sorry, but flavored
water is called a soft drink. You want flavored water? Pour some scotch
over ice and let it melt. That's your flavored water.
- "Stop messing with old people. Target
is introducing a redesigned pill bottle that's square, with a bigger
label. And the top is now the bottom. And by the time grandpa figures
out how to open it, his ass will be in the morgue. Congratulations,
Target, you just solved the Social Security crisis.
- "The more complicated the Starbucks order, the
bigger the jerk. If you walk into a Starbucks and order a "decaf
grande half-soy, half-low fat, iced vanilla, double-shot, gingerbread
cappuccino, extra dry, light ice, with one Sweet-n-Low and one NutraSweet," ooh,
you're a huge jerk.
- "Competitive eating isn't a sport. It's one
of the seven deadly sins. ESPN recently televised the US Open of Competitive
Eating, because watching those athletes at the poker table was just
too damned exciting. What's next, competitive farting? Oh wait. They're
already doing that. It's called "The Howard Stern Show."
- "I
don't need a bigger mega M&M. If I'm
extra hungry for M&Ms, I'll go nuts and eat two.
- "If you're going to insist on making movies
based on crappy old television shows, then you have to give everyone
in the Cineplex a remote so we can see what's playing on the other
screens. Let's remember the reason something was a television show
in the first place is that the idea wasn't good enough to be a movie.
- "No more gift registries. You know, it
used to be just for weddings. Now it's for babies and new homes and
graduations from rehab. Picking out the stuff you want and having other
people buy it for you isn't gift giving; it's the upscale version of
looting.
- "When I ask how old your
toddler is, I don't need to know in months. '27 Months.' 'He's two,'
will do just fine. He's not a cheese. And I didn't really care in
the first place."
The joke's on us. . . New correspondent
Grumps comes
to the aid of the humor-deprived with this favorite funny, just in
time for tax season:
"Ralph arrived at his Internal Revenue Service
audit accompanied by another man. The IRS guy assumed the other man
was Ralph's attorney. Going over the records, the IRS official said,
'Well, sir, it appears that you live at a much higher level than your
reported employment income. How do you explain that?'
"Ralph replied, 'I love to gamble and I usually
win.'
"The skeptical official gave him a disbelieving
look.
"'I can prove it,' said Ralph. 'How about
a demonstration?'
"The official thought a moment and said,
'OK. Go ahead.'
"Ralph said, 'I'll bet you a thousand dollars
that I can bite my own eye.'
"The auditor thought a moment and said, 'No
way! It's a bet!'
"Ralph removed his glass eye and bit it.
The official's jaw dropped. Ralph said, 'Now, I'll bet you $2,000 that
I can bite my other eye.' The official could tell Ralph wasn't blind,
so he took the bet.
"Ralph then removed his dentures and bit
his good eye. The stunned official was now three grand in the hole!
"'Want to go double or nothing?' Ralph asked.
'I'll bet you $6,000 that I can stand on your desk and pee into that
wastebasket by the door over there and never get a drop anywhere in
between.'
"The auditor, twice burned, was cautious
now, but there's no way this guy could manage that stunt, so he agreed
again.
"Ralph climbed up on the auditor's desk,
missed the wastebasket completely, and pretty much peed all over the
desk. The official grinned. He had just turned a huge loss into a huge
win!
"But then he noticed that Ralph's friend
looked ashen and was visibly shaking. 'Are you okay?' the IRS auditor
asked.
"The man replied, 'Not really. Before we
arrived, Ralph bet me $20,000 he'd pee on your desk and you'd be happy
about it!'"
Those thrilling days of yesteryear.
. . The following,
from Rex Malcom of Woodland Hills,
Calif., came addressed to "Dept. of Anecdotes and Other Fodder." In
the interest of preserving a little local history for the ages, we
pass it along:
"A story in the Dec. 23 issue of the Daily
Press about
the Silco Theater renaissance got my attention—as did your January
collection of diary entries.
"My mother, Myrtle Malcolm, owned and ran the Silco Confectionery
for a time in the 1970s. Her daughter Marylyn and her granddaughter—Sharlene,
Marylyn's daughter—about a year ago moved to Arenas Valley after living—if
you can call that living—in Florida. (They got outta Dodge, as it were,
about 15 minutes ahead of that season's fourth or fifth hurricane.) Marylyn
and Sharlene have recently moved from Arenas Valley to another Silver-adjacent
location. (Here in L.A., "adjacent" lends a lot of crass
in real estate ads bragging that the property is 'Beverly Hills adjacent.'
Be still, my heart.)
"I was born in Silver City in 1927 to Rex
and Myrtle Malcolm. They met in Santa Rita a couple of years before
that, where Rex worked the railroad in the mine. Before moving to Santa
Rita, Myrtle worked at a bakery—whose name I have lost—across the
street from the Silco.
"In about 1930 or 1931, Myrtle and Rex moved
to Phoenix, where Marylyn was born, then on to California. Marylyn
and I grew up in Huntington Park, a dozen miles southeast of downtown
Los Angeles.
"Myrtle's brother Clarence Osmer ran the
Western Auto on Bullard during the 1940s; I worked there during a summer
visit from Los Angeles when I was about 15. Her brother Pat (Louis)
Osmer worked a fluorspar mine in, I think, the Burros. I spent happy
weeks at the mine with Pat, his wife, Gretchen, and their two teenage
sons, Louis and David.
"Myrtle's mother—my grandmother—Posie Harrell
lived at the corner of Grant and 10th St. for decades. Posie was a
faithful member of the Baptist church a few blocks away.
"From my keyboard, I can see the miniature New
Mexico flag displayed atop a filing cabinet. Reading about the Silco's
history and future—and the Diary entries in Desert
Exposure—was,
like, enchanting."
Do you have recollections of the Silco Theater in
downtown Silver City? Send them along for a future Desert Exposure celebration
of the theater's past as it undergoes renovation for an exciting new
future. Those and other anecdotes of days gone by may be sent to Desert
Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, fax 534-4134, email diary@desertexposure.com.
Green eggs and Spam. . . At the risk
of turning this into a Special Poetry Edition of Desert Diary (please,
no!), we can't resist sharing this Doctor Seuss parody sent our way via
LauraK.
And no, Desert Diary is not taking political sides—please remember
that the Jack Abramoff scandal has reached both sides of the aisle:
"That Abramoff!
That Abramoff!
I do not like that Abramoff!
'Would you like to play some golf?'
I do not want to play some golf.
I do not want to, Abramoff.
'We could fly you there for free.
Off to Scotland, by the sea.'
I do not want to fly for free.
I don't like Scotland by the sea.
I do not want to play some golf.
I do not want to, Abramoff.
'Would you, could you, take this bribe?
Could you, would you, for the tribe?'
I would not, could not, take this bribe.
I could not, would not, for the tribe.
'If we strong-armed corporations
Into giving you donations?
They'd be funneled to your PAC.
Would you then cut us some slack?'
I would not, could not, cut you slack.
I do not care about my PAC.
I do not want to play some golf.
I do not want to, Abramoff.
'A plane! A plane! A plane! A plane!
Would you, could you, for a plane?'
I could not, would not, for a plane.
Not for a bribe, not for the tribe.
Not for donations from corporations.
Not for my PAC, not for some slack.
Not from any schmoe named Jack.
'Would you help us buy some ships
Perfect for quick gambling trips?
Talk to people in the know
For a little quid pro quo?
Oh come now, don't be a snob.
Let us give your wife a job.'
I will not help you buy some ships.
I do not wish for gambling trips.
My wife does not need a job
Even if she is a snob.
We do not like bribes, can't you see?
Why won't you just let me be?
'You do not like bribes, so you say.
Try them, try them, and you may.
Try them and you may, I say.'
Jack. If you will let me be
I will try them, then you'll see.
Say. . . I do like playing golf!
I like it, I do, Abramoff!
I do like Scotland by the sea.
It's such a thrilling place to be!
And I will take this bribe.
And I will help the tribe.
And I will take donations
From big corporations.
And I will help you buy some ships.
And I will take quick gambling trips.
Say, I'll give anyone the shaft
As long as it involves some graft!
I do so like playing golf!
Thank you! Thank you,
Abramoff!"
Losing the battle of the sexes.
. . Returning to
our pages from her new home in Tennessee, via the magic of email, Southern
Belle sends this volley in the gender wars:
- "You may not know this, but many non-living
things have a gender.
- "Ziploc bags are male, because they hold
everything in, but you can see right through them.
- "Copiers are female,
because once turned off, it takes a while to warm them up again. It's
an effective reproductive device if the right buttons are pushed, but
can wreak havoc if the wrong buttons are pushed.
- "A tire is male, because it goes bald
and it's often over-inflated.
- "A hot-air balloon is male, because to
get it to go anywhere, you have to light a fire under it, and of course,
there's the hot-air part.
- "Sponges are female, because they're soft,
squeezable and retain water.
- "A Web page is female, because it's always
getting hit on.
- "A subway is male, because it uses the
same old lines to pick people up.
- "An hourglass is female, because over
time, the weight shifts to the bottom.
- "A hammer is male, because it hasn't changed
much over the last 5,000 years, but it's handy to have around.
- "A remote control is female. Ha! You thought
it'd be male, didn't you? But consider this: It gives a man pleasure,
he'd be lost without it, and while he doesn't always know the right
buttons to push, he keeps trying!"
The writing's on the wall. . . In
a sort of offshoot of our ongoing call for silly sign sightings, Doctor
Diane forwards
these true-life (supposedly) examples of graffiti worth writing here
rather than just, well, you know:
"Friends don't let friends take home ugly
men.
—women's restroom, Starboard, Dewey Beach, Del.
"Beauty is only a light switch away.
—Perkins
Library, Duke University, Durham, NC
"If life is a waste of time, and time is
a waste of life, then let's all get wasted together and have the time
of our lives.
—Armand's Pizza, Washington, DC
"Remember, it's not, 'How high are you?'
it's 'Hi, how are you?'—rest stop off Route 81, WV
"Fighting for peace is like having sex for
virginity.
—The Bayou, Baton Rouge, La.
"No matter how good she looks, some other
guy is sick and tired of putting up with her crap.
—men's room, Linda's
Bar and Grill, Chapel Hill, NC
"At the feast of ego everyone leaves hungry.
—Bentley's
House of Coffee and Tea, Tucson
"It's hard to make a comeback when you haven't
been anywhere.
—written in the dust on the back of a bus, Wickenburg,
AZ
"Make love, not war. Hell, do both—GET MARRIED!"
—women's
restroom, The Filling Station, Bozeman, Mont.
"If voting could really change things, it
would be illegal.
—Revolution Books, New York City
"If 'pro' is opposite of 'con,' then what
is the opposite of 'progress'? Congress!
—men's restroom, House of
Representatives, Washington, DC
"Express Lane: Five beers or less.
—sign
over one of the urinals, Ed Debevic's, Phoenix
"You're too good for him.
—sign over mirror
in women's restroom, Ed Debevic's, Beverly Hills
"No wonder you always go home alone.
—sign
over mirror in men's restroom, Ed Debevic's, Beverly Hills
"A Woman's Rule of Thumb: If it has tires
or testicles, you're going to have trouble with it.
—women's restroom,
Dick's Last Resort, Dallas"
Pondering the imponderables. . .Finally, ne of
life's little mysteries, answered (no doubt) through experience, courtesy
of Stan of Cruces:
"Not too long ago, while on a jaunt in the
Organ Mountains, I asked my wife, Carolyn, 'When does a walk become
a hike?
"She quickly replied, 'When you need to pee.'"
Your anecdotes, jokes and life lessons are welcome—even
if they do not involve urination, do not rhyme, or both—at Desert
Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, fax 534-4134, email diary@desertexposure.com.
Remember, the best submissions get a piece of spiffy Desert
Exposure gear, like a T shirt or one of our new 10th anniversary
mugs.
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| 
March
2006