No Hugs for Doug

There was a boy
his name was Doug
and all he wanted
was a hug

When he asked
they’d always shrug
and so there were
no hugs for Doug

When he asked them
in the hall
there he got
no hugs at all

When he asked them
during lunch
they shook their heads
all in a bunch

When he asked
out in the rain
they all thought
he’d gone insane

He asked them late
he asked them early
and all they thought
was: ‘Damn, he’s squirrelly!”

And so he goes
with grin on mug
hoping for
a hug for Doug

To all those who refused.
MDW 4/15/00

Puns 10-24-12

How does Moses make his tea? Hebrews it.

Venison for dinner again? Oh deer!

A cartoonist was found dead in his home. Details are sketchy.

I used to be a banker, but then I lost interest.

Haunted French pancakes give me the crêpes.

England has no kidney bank, but it does have a Liverpool.

I tried to catch some fog, but I mist.

They told me I had type-A blood, but it was a Type-O.

I changed my iPod’s name to Titanic. It’s syncing now.

Jokes about German sausage are the wurst.

I know a guy who’s addicted to brake fluid, but he says he can stop any time.

I stayed up all night to see where the sun went, and then it dawned on me.

This girl said she recognized me from the vegetarian club, but I’d never met herbivore.

When chemists die, they barium.

I’m reading a book about anti-gravity. I just can’t put it down.

I did a theatrical performance about puns. It was a play on words.

PMS jokes aren’t funny; period…

Why were the Indians here first? They had reservations.

We’re going on a class trip to the Coca-Cola factory. I hope there’s no pop quiz.

I didn’t like my beard at first. Then it grew on me.

Did you hear about the cross-eyed teacher who lost her job because she couldn’t control her pupils?

When you get a bladder infection urine trouble.

Broken pencils are pointless.

What do you call a dinosaur with an extensive vocabulary? A thesaurus.

I dropped out of communism class because of lousy Marx.

All the toilets in New York’s police stations have been stolen. The police have nothing to go on.

I got a job at a bakery because I kneaded dough.

Velcro – what a rip off!

Ode to Spot

(original transcription found here)

Felis Cattus, is your taxonomic nomenclature,
an endothermic quadruped carnivorous by nature?
Your visual, olfactory and auditory senses
contribute to your hunting skills, and natural defenses.

I find myself intrigued by your subvocal oscillations,
a singular development of cat communications
that obviates your basic hedonistic predilection
for a rhythmic stroking of your fur, to demonstrate affection.

A tail is quite essential for your acrobatic talents;
you would not be so agile if you lacked its counterbalance.
And when not being utilized to aid in locomotion,
it often serves to illustrate the state of your emotion.

O Spot, the complex levels of behaviour you display
connote a fairly well-developed cognitive array.
And though you are not sentient, Spot, and do not comprehend,
I nonetheless consider you a true and valued friend.

— Lt. Commander Data from Star Trek The Next Generation

I’ve always enjoyed this poem, on several levels, not the least the humor in the scene in which it’s read:

Web prayer

Our root,
Who art in UNIX
Hallowed be thy Shell.

Thy kernal come,
Thy commands be run.
@localhost as they are in iNet.

Give us this day our daily updates
And forgive us our four-oh-threes
As we forgive those who 403 against us.

And lead us not into segfaults
but deliver us from /dev/null

For thine is the Kernal, access and 1337ness

Forever and ever


Transcribed from here.

You may also enjoy this…

Jolly Copper


Listening to Randy Newman’s Jolly Coppers. Visualizing the lyrics. Thought of circus clown routines. Thought of clowns. Remembered my father was a Shriner clown in his later years. Remembered he was ‘Sherrif’ of the clowns (quite presitgious among the flappy-shoed).  Remembered this photo:

George Parker Wray 3/9/1928 - 5/21/2008


Jolly Copper, indeed.

Miss you dad.


I’ve always believed that humor is where you find it – and you don’t have to look too hard.

Most of the advertising and packaging I’ve seen is so blissfully self-unaware that it self-lampoons with little or no help.

Case in point. Walking through the kitchen at work recently I saw this empty carton sitting on the counter waiting for its trip to the recycling bin:

Innocent enough

but on a whim I picked it up and saw this on the side:

Hm... what's this?

Here’s my thought process as my eyes homed in on the top:

"Morning Masterpiece" ? Oh, I think NOT.

“Morning Masterpiece”? What’s that brown stuff? Doesn’t look a thing like my ‘morning masterpiece’… and mine sure don’t come in pints… but it is kinda creamy… don’t think folks would want it in their coffee…

So to my coworker who was mystified as to my inexplicable laughter… now you know. Yes, it’s scatlogical, yes it’s puerile but it WAS a funny moment to me.

10 Simple Words

10 Simple Words Students (And Everyone) Screw Up

from EDUdemic

OMG U Guyz, Grammar among kidz the$e days be terribllle! So does speeling! There is a big problem unfolding around the world right now. Lucky for you, The Oatmeal has spelled it out, literally. The guy behind the hit comic strip has laid out the top 10 words everyone probably misspells. Hilarious stuff. Enjoy!

Daren Gray

Screamingly funny twist on Casey at the Bat.

From the comments at’s live coverage of the Apple event

“Jobs at the Bat”

by Daren Gray

(as largely thefted from Ernest Lawrence Thayer)


The Outlook wasn’t brilliant for the older tech that day:

The score stood ten to one against, with but one inning more to play.

And then when Kindle died at first, and Nook did the same,

A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.


A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest

Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;

They thought, if only Jobs could get but a whack at that –

We’d put up even money now, and possibly our cat.


But first some stuff about that phone, and more of AT&T

And the former was a lulu and the latter an atrocity;

So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,

For there seemed but little chance of Jobs getting out of that.


But soon the music swelled and to the wonderment of all,

To ringing chords of Coldplay came Jobs into the hall

And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,

There was Jobs upon the stage, and Ballmer flipped him the bird.


Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;

It rumbled through the building, it rattled down at Dell;

It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,

For Jobs, mighty Jobs, was advancing to the… WHAT THE F*** IS THAT?!


There was ease in Jobs’ manner as he stepped into his place;

There was pride in Jobs’ bearing and a smile on Jobs’ face.

And when, responding to the cheers, he lofted high the gizmo,

No fanboy in the crowd could hold their ever-building jizzmo.


Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with balm;

Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped it on his palm.

Then while the writhing members ground their hands into their hips,

Defiance gleamed in Jobs’ eye, a sneer curled Jobs’ lips.


And now his withered old man finger came whizzing cross the screen,

And Jobs stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur keen.

Close by the sturdy CEO the clock unheeded sped –

”That ain’t my style,” said Jobs. “Strike one,” a critic said.


From the aisles, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,

Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.

“Kill him! Kill the blasphemer!” shouted someone on the stand;

And its likely they’d a-killed him had not Jobs raised his hand.


With a smile of Christian charity great Jobs’ visage shone;

He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the show go on;

He signaled to the projector, and once more the hype did flew;

But Jobs still ignored it, and the critic said, “Strike two.”


“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;

But one scornful look from Jobs and the audience was awed.

They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,

And they knew that Jobs wouldn’t let that moment pass again.


The sneer is gone from Jobs’ lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;

He pounds with cruel violence the tablet on his pate.

And now the critic holds his tongue, and now he lets it go,

And now the air is shattered by the force of Jobs’ blow.


Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,

And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children tweet;

There is no joy in Redmond, but, MAN… this tablet’s sweet!


Posted by: daren_gray | 01/27/10 | 2:13 am

You may live in Canada…

Stolen wholeheartedly directly from Malcha’s Sound Visions:

If your local Dairy Queen is closed from
September through May,
You may live in Canada .

If someone in a Home Depot store
Offers you assistance and they don’t work there,
You may live in Canada .

If you’ve worn shorts and a parka at the same time,
You may live in Canada .

If you’ve had a lengthy telephone conversation
With someone who dialed a wrong number,
You may live in Canada .

If ‘Vacation’ means going anywhere
South of Detroit for the weekend,
You may live in Canada .

If you measure distance in hours,
You may live in Canada .

If you know several people
Who have hit a deer more than once,
You may live in Canada .

If you have switched from ‘heat’ to ‘A/C’
In the same day and back again,
You may live in Canada .

If you can drive 90 km/hr through 2 feet of snow
During a raging blizzard without flinching,
You may live in Canada .

If you install security lights on your house and garage,
But leave both unlocked,
You may live in Canada .

If you carry jumper cables in your car
And your wife knows how to use them,
You may live in Canada .

If you design your kid’s Halloween costume
To fit over a snowsuit,
You may live in Canada .

If the speed limit on the highway is 80 km –
You’re going 95 and everybody is passing you,
You may live in Canada .

If driving is better in the winter
Because the potholes are filled with snow,
You may live in Canada .

If you know all 4 seasons:
Almost winter, winter, still winter,
and road construction,
You may live in Canada .

(this is my favourite, because how true)

If you have more miles
On your snow blower than your car,
You may live in Canada .

If you find -2 degrees ‘a little chilly’,
You may live in Canada .

If you actually understand these jokes,
you definitely are Canadian and proud to be.

Curtain Rods

Hat tip to Jerry Goldsmith for this one!

She spent the first day packing her belongings into boxes, crates and suitcases.

On the second day, she had the movers come and collect her things.

On the third day, she sat down for the last time at their beautiful dining room table by candle-light, put on some soft background music, and feasted on a pound of shrimp, a jar of caviar, and a bottle of spring-water.

When she had finished, she went into each and every room and deposited a few half-eaten shrimp shells dipped in caviar into the hollow of the curtain rods.

She then cleaned up the kitchen and left. When the husband returned with
his new girlfriend, all was bliss for the first few days.

Then slowly, the house began to smell.

They tried everything; cleaning, mopping and airing the place out.

Vents were checked for dead rodents and carpets were steam cleaned.

Air fresheners were hung everywhere.

Exterminators were brought in to set off gas canisters, during which they had to move out for a few days and in the end they even paid to replace the expensive wool carpeting.

Nothing worked.

People stopped coming over to visit.

Repairmen refused to work in the house.

The maid quit.
Finally, they could not take the stench any longer and decided to move.

A month later, even though they had cut their price in half, they could
not find a buyer for their stinky house.

Word got out and eventually even the local realtors refused to return
their calls.

Finally, they had to borrow a huge sum of money from the bank to purchase a new place.

The ex-wife called the man and asked how things were going.

He told her the saga of the rotting house. She listened politely and said that she missed her old home terribly and would be willing to reduce her divorce settlement in exchange for getting the house back.

Knowing his ex-wife had no idea how bad the smell was, he agreed on a price that was about 1/10th of what the house had been worth, but only if she were to sign the papers that very day.

She agreed and within the hour his lawyers delivered the paperwork.

A week later the man and his girlfriend stood smiling as they watched the moving company pack everything to take to their new home………

And to spite the ex-wife, they even took the curtain rods !!!!!!

Respect for authority

Hat tip to my pal Todd!

An RCMP officer stops at a ranch up in Iron Mountain , B.C. and talks with the old ranch owner.

He tells the rancher, ‘I need to inspect your ranch for illegal grown drugs.’

The old rancher says, ‘Okay, but don’t go in that field over there.’

The RCMP officer verbally explodes saying, ‘Mister, I have the authority of the Federal Government with me.’

Reaching into his rear pants pocket and removing his badge, the officer brandishes it at the farmer.

‘See this badge? This badge means I am allowed to go wherever I wish, on any land… no questions asked or answers given. Have I made myself clear?  Do you understand?

The old rancher nods politely and goes about his chores.

Later, the old rancher hears loud screams and spies the RCMP officer running for his life and close behind is the rancher’s bull.

With every step the bull is gaining ground on the officer. The officer is clearly terrified.

The old rancher immediately throws down his tools, runs to the fence and yells at the top of his lungs …

‘Your badge! Show him your fuckin’ badge!’

A Spread of Bloggers

Here I’d been hoping for something along the lines of ‘A Murder of Crows’ like… maybe… “An Intrigue of Bloggers” (oooh… that makes ya kinda tingle, dunnit?) or something at least a little romantic…

oh no…

Bernie Lincicome at I want my Rocky, in “I’ll get the hang of this blogging; just let me hitch up my sweatpants first” comes out with these:

I witnessed a collection of bloggers (what would that be, a pride of lions, a gaggle of geese, a barrel of bloggers?) at the Democratic Convention in Denver, and, to be honest, many of them appeared quite human, even in their sweat pants.

Now, my dear friend DJ Cline often opined that one of his favorite things about working remote was: “No Pants” so this sounds pretty accurate.

They had their own lunchroom, with a spread of coldcuts (ah, that’s it, a spread of bloggers) pastries and utensils, not many of which were used.

A ‘spread‘ of bloggers? Now I guess I really am chopped liver (but I love chopped liver… dammit!)

Wait. I have it. A tiding of bloggers. Very distinctive and usually applied to magpies. A perfect fit come to that. Like magpies, incessant noise but without intelligence. Yes. Tiding of bloggers it is.

OUCH. Dude.

At the Super Bowl, during Media Day, where freaks and self-promoters are encouraged, I thought about hanging a sign around my neck that said, “Will Blog For Food.”

I can’t really be angry at someone I think is calling me a freak since he’s now starting into the adventure I survived less than two years ago: eighteen months of desperate unemployment. Dude, I -did- ‘blog for food’ and self-promoted for all I was worth – I built websites, I fixed people’s computers and taught. (Sorry if I keep calling you ‘dude’, I’m kinda buried in the whole ‘sweat pants’ thing. But to be honest – that’s exactly what I’m wearing at this moment, so point given and taken).

I think there IS money in blogging. The folks at think so and appear to be making it work – according to Guy Asakawa, speaking at the recent WordCamp Denver. I’d support pay-for-premium content. I tried the Post’s electronic edition and it stank. Do something better (you’ve got a heckuva start!) and I’ll buy it and encourage others to also.

So… here I sit, trying to imagine Bernie in sweatpants.

Hm. (blinks several times as if in pain)

Welcome to the blogsphere Mr. Lincicome, keep those sweatpants hitched up. (please)

Two Words

John Stewart’s comedic delivery is SO good. When he finally drops the bomb, it’s like a laser-guided missle. I know this video is posted all over the web, but after watching it, I believe it needs to be. Anyone that thinks the subprime mortgage crisis is wholly the fault of the homeowners, listen carefully to the end of this clip. I agree.