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Posts Tagged ‘comedy’


I got a call the other night from a fan of the previous owner of my phone number, AKA a John. He was looking for Raxxxxl. Gentlemen, someone out there’s imitating men, giving you guys a bad name.

The conversation went something like this –

“Hello, what’s your hourly rate?”

“Excuse me?” (It was after all the middle of the night.)

“Are you still open?”

“This isn’t who you think it is. She changed her number a long time ago.”

“How much do you charge?”

“What? No, I didn’t take over the business, I got this number from <insert telephone company name here>.”

“Oh, okay. What are you wearing?”

“Really?”

“Are you busy?”

My imagined reply –

“Getting ready to ask some strange guy over who just called for late night sex. I’m at <insert address of older brother>. Ask for me, his baby sister.”

No wait. I’ll give him my address. This post could be rename to How to Meet a Serial Killer. Gotta run, I need to sharpen my axe before he gets here.

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photo_zps39f3d4ee

Some of you may remember my young nephew the Pistol. His one and only Grandpa died. Now the Pistol and one of his cousins Katie are the youngest of their siblings. The other kids are teenagers.

The main service was over and family members were coming forward to relate their stories. The adults went first followed by the teens. No one thought about the five year olds. In awesome Pistol style, my little nephew stood up and loudly announced, “I have something to say.”

The Pistol climbed the steps up front. And he began.

“Grampa won’t be able to give Katie rides on the tractor anymore, because … well … he’s dead. And now I would like to sing God Bless America.”  At which point, he began belting it out. The audience rose and joined him.

It was a lovely way to end a funeral. Pistol, you’re awesome

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I couldn’t find my jeans. I was in a hurry since I had a “meeting” and waited till the last minute to get ready. Story of my life.

I raced to the laundry room, maybe my jeans were in there. My son was home doing his laundry. I glanced at the piles of clean and folded laundry. (He’s way too neat. Didn’t get it from me.)

“Are my jeans in here somewhere?”

He pulled a load from the dryer. “Here, these are your.”

There on top were my jeans. I grabbed them figuring I didn’t have time to handle the whole load right then. Besides if I leave them he’ll put them away later.

“Hey,” his voice stopped me, “take the whole load, they’re all yours.”

“You sound just like my mother.” I said, grabbing the bundle of clothes, not meaning this as a compliment.

To which my son replied, “Funny, you sound just like mine.”

 

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people windy picnic

Every morning my obnoxious alarm goes off. Blinded by daylight, I slap it a couple of times and stumble to the kitchen. I stand in front of the open refrigerator door, drink milk straight from the carton, and grab a hard boiled egg.

I love cold hard boiled eggs so I make them on Sunday afternoon and put them in a container ready for the week. It adds to my mindless routine. I love mindless in the morning.

But one day it was different. Saturday morning, my siblings decided to get together. Early. Really early. They know I don’t do early, especially not on Saturday. Early Saturday in Deidra time means I’ll be 2 hours late. Whatever time you set.

To help me with this, they decided to meet at my house and for my convenience, they let themselves in. They’re really thoughtful that way.

An issue arose during the early morning gathering which has forced me to issue the following warning.

To the person who replaced my boiled egg with a frozen egg,

I’m narrowing the suspect pool. The noose is tightening. Feel my breath on the back of your neck as I close in. In the words of the immortal wicked witch of Oz.

“I will get you and your little dog too.”

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I’ve been a bit under the weather. The doctor prescribed me a cough medicine with codeine.

Wrapped in a warm blanket snuggle into the depths of the sofa, the darkness had settled and with it a drowsy drugged feeling. I hadn’t coughed in almost an hour.

The light from the television pushing just enough light into the room to make out the patches on Grandma’s old quilt.

Soft elevator music played in the background while a man in the lobby of a large office building buffed the floor. A comforting fog moved into my mind.

What was the name of this movie? My mind drifted like a cloud.

A deafening crash echoed through the room as a body slams on top of a truck on the screen in front of me.

My chest was heaving my body tense, I was hardly able to process what just happened. I looked around at the people watching TV with me. They were staring at me with open mouthed amazement.

“Did I scream out loud?”

“Yeah,” my roomie replied.

I screamed like I have never screamed before. Hollywood pays people for this kind of high pitched, gut wrenching scream of terror. I tell you this so that you may learn a lesson from it. If you are taking cough medicine with codeine, do not watch a movie called Devil. I had to pray myself to sleep last night.

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203 a

It was early one spring when I found myself on a French highway between Normandy and Paris with my panties strung on a line across the back window of a silver sports car. French truck drivers, not unlike American truck drivers were quick to express their approval of my delicates flapping in the breeze as I zoomed back to Paris.

This would never have happened if I hadn’t decide liquor was more important than panties. You see I worked in Europe three weeks of every month. So naturally, I decided I could forego clothing to create luggage space for more wine and champagne.

This time my brilliance got the best of me. I found myself in the unfortunate position of being in a hotel in rural France without clean panties.

Never fear, I thought, a quick wash in the sink and they’ll be dry and ready for the flight back to the U.S. in the morning.

However, come morning my “delicates” were still wet. Not to be outwitted by panties, I grabbed a string from the hotel owner and strung it across the back window of the sports car I had rented. I set off for Paris, my windows down and my line of undies flapping behind me. Admiring truck drivers honked at me all the way back to Paris.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t calculated air speed and drag, not being of the mathematically minded. As I pulled into the car rental lot to the shocked horror of the Parisian employees, one end of the string had pulled loose and the whole string was waving like a kite high above the back of that sports car shining in the morning sun.

They found me ripping my underwear out of the back window and shoving it into my suitcase just in time to catch my flight. They didn’t even had the decency to look haughty.

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109

Jim was a nuclear physicist, a brilliant man. Much to his own detriment, he didn’t know when to stop thinking.

He had been through a series of interviews. The job was basically his. All he had to do was pass a drug screening. I don’t know if they said drug test or not. I’m assuming not, they must have been vague.

The company had an on-site clinic where the test was performed.

So, Jim comes toddling in. The tech hands him a cup and tells him to return the sample to her desk.

Does Jim think “They want to see if I use drugs.”?

No.

He thinks “It’s a nuclear facility. They want to take a baseline reading now so they can measure the affects of potential radiation exposure over time.”

So instead of urine, he gives them a sperm sample. He is still trying to figure out why he didn’t get the job.

Can you imagine the technician’s reaction when a cup of sperm lands on her desk?

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My head was thumping. I was having trouble thinking.

Oh God!

I shot straight up, realizing the lump in the bed next to me was alive and possibly awake. A sliver of light broke through the darkened hotel room.

Minutes ticked by while my mind raced to remember.

Why was I in a hotel room? Convention, yeah, we were at a convention. Who was we? Me and my three closest friends.

A late night of shots and gambling left me hazy as to the details. The other three lumps began stirring. Three heads started popping up, then burrowing back into their pillows and back up again. If I had a mallet I could have played whack-a-mole.

I flipped on the lamp.

Holy mackerel!

I fell asleep with my friends in the room and woke up with three trolls instead. These women were able to completely change the shape and color of their features.

I have a heart-shaped birthmark on my cheek. I like to tell young tattooed people it started as a little heart by my eye. But by the time I’m eighty it’ll have fallen to my boob and look like an arrow pointing straight to hell.  I digress.

That mark is always there no matter how much stuff I try to cover it with.  I feel like a throw back to the Jurassic period.

I was on my knees praying to Maybelline to save me.

Holy Sephora! How’d they do that Cover Girl?

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magic cat

I have an idea for a story where the voice of the universe talks to a guy through his toilet. So what kind of guy would hear voices from the toilet —

I’m sitting here waiting in a cafe because the voice of the universe spoke to me through my toilet. I know, it sounds crazy.

My name? Now that’s a story. My father was a hippie. My mother was Native American, Comanche actually. When my mother was pregnant with me, they went to the medicine woman, who told them they must name me after the place where I would be born.

They planned to be in Phoenix, Arizona when I was born. I was going to be named Phoenix Arizona, kinda cool. Instead, when my Mom was seven months pregnant, they decided to go to a peace march in Washington. I was born in Washington, DC. So my name? It’s District of Columbia, District of Columbia Campbell or DC for short.

I’d like to think my parents were dropping acid, smoking a little too much ganja, or at least on a three day bender, but  they say they were high on love.

She also told them I was twins, girls, but they didn’t think to ignore her just because she was wrong on number and sex. No, they followed her instructions to a T. I’d like to kick the ass of a medicine woman about now.

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winter princess woman

My Grandmother wanted her ashes spread over a field of blue bonnets. So after she was cremated, we set out to find the perfect place. It became somewhat of a contest.

I have four sisters and two brothers. Cell phones at the ready, we all set out like it was some kind of race to find the perfect place. Pictures flew of green fields with a smattering of blue. None were considered worthy of Grams.

The hunt continued some good contenders were found, but nothing quite right. One of my brothers even submitted a dense patch of blue in the median somewhere along highway 67. Be real Bro. Who wants to visit Grams along a busy stretch of country highway?

Finally, one of my over achieving sisters found a rolling patch of blue leading down to a lake. (I say she’s over achieving mostly because I didn’t find it myself.)

And so we scheduled a lovely morning to say farewell to Grams. I met my sister, the over achiever to car pool. Someone thought it would be a good idea to take handfuls of her and spread her around thinking good thoughts.

Midway through I realized how disgusting this was. That was about the time the wind picked up. Grandma blew back in my face and I choked on her.

On our way home, my sisters wanted to go through a drive through and pick up a burger.

I said, “I have to go in. I have Grandma all over my hands and steering wheel.”

My sister start to laugh.

I took one look at her and said, “You have a smudge of Grandma on your teeth.”

I don’t know how many time I’ve told my sister to keep her mouth shut. She never listens. I think this makes her a cannibal.

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