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Off Topics Jokes-Puzzles-Riddles > Rickets, The Finicky Hobo

GimbalFan

rrProfessor - Location: Copter County, Nv - My Posts This: Topic Forum

05-03-2009 07:25 AM

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Mutt
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Location: M ca usa

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HEHE Sounds like a hollyweird hobo lolol

05-03-2009 03:15 PM

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GimbalFan
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Location: Copter County, Nv

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THE DREAM:

I'm in a cemetery, attending a funeral. I'm not sure whose it is. My mother, who died a year ago, is there -- alive but not well. We leave the funeral and I take her back to a place I used to live that is now unfurnished and cold. There is no food there. I leave her there anyway.

I then find myself shopping in a supermarket while holding a baby swaddled in a blanket. The supermarket is run by young people. They play rock music too loudly for a supermarket and seem to be having a good time. I keep losing the baby, putting it down and forgetting where I put it.

I select two items and go to the checkout stand where I'm told that one of the items, some sort of raisin bread, is very expensive. I tell the check-out girl I don't want the raisin bread and then realize I've lost the baby again. Thankfully I find the baby but then decide I can't leave my mother in an empty house. I hurry off to bring her back to where I now live, a comfortable home with all the amenities.

MY ANALYSIS:

The funeral is for my inauthentic self. The self that's been conditioned by parents, culture and environment to survive by whatever means necessary. It is a frightened, angry thing which I'm just now realizing is not my true identity. My mother played a powerful role in its formation. I take her to a barren place because I have not been able to confront nor integrate her influence into my consciousness.

The baby is my authentic self. The essential soul that exists before conditioning. I alone am responsible for that self's well-being and am constantly abandoning it in favor of the illusory comfort of the false self.

The supermarket is filled with food, music and youthful energy which symbolizes the wisdom, creativity and vitality which nurtures the soul. There is a high price to pay for these things. It is the price of freedom. I balk at paying that price.

Finally, I retrieve my mother and bring her back to the nice house, which means I'm ready to bring her influence in my life up to a conscious level.

CONCLUSION:

My wakeful thinking is not drenched in metaphor, therefore the dream must have originated from some eternal source of compassionate wisdom, or, I shouldn't read books about Jungian psychology before I go to sleep.

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05-06-2009 02:45 AM

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GimbalFan
rrProfessor
Location: Copter County, Nv

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"Haven't you heard? The jingle business is dead! They're using rock songs!
They're not gonna hire a guy like me to write a jingle for tampons when they can just play "Stuck In The Middle With You!"

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05-31-2009 06:34 AM

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Mutt
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Location: M ca usa

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LOL thats bad lol but I love it lol

05-31-2009 02:42 PM

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GimbalFan
rrProfessor
Location: Copter County, Nv

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Excerpt from my Commencement Speech
at the State University of New York at Potsdam

"Before I get started I want to point out that the commencement speaker for the '09 graduating class of Notre Dame is the President of the United States.

"The commencement speaker for the 2009 graduating class of SUNY Potsdam is a deeply neurotic, twice-divorced sitcom writer with chronic bronchitis. Just thought you should know. You do get what you pay for.

"Anyway, my commencement speech:

"Thirty-seven years ago I dropped out of SUNY Potsdam and packed my '66 Mustang with all my worldly belongings. Those belongings included one cardboard box filled with clothing, one Panasonic FM-AM stereo and turntable, one record collection, one Fender Stratocaster, one Fender twin reverb amp and one Boomerang wah-wah pedal.

"I then took a deep breath and drove to Los Angeles with four hundred dollars in my pocket and the dream of being a rock star in my head.

"I sincerely hope that none of you here today are that stupid."

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06-02-2009 02:43 AM

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GimbalFan
rrProfessor
Location: Copter County, Nv

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He tore feverishly at her bodice, ripping it off her sweat-drenched body. Having just bought the bodice, this really bummed her out. Still, she wanted more than anything to be devoured by his earthy passion. Unfortunately the idea of saying "devour me with your earthy passion" creeped her out, so instead she murmured "Hum daddy bow-wow."

He had no idea what she was talking about and found himself wondering whether it was positive verbal feedback in regards to his foreplay technique, or signs of early onset dementia. He went with positive feedback because the notion of making love to a woman who would soon be drooling into a cup was not terribly arousing. Not un-doable, but not a big turn on either.

Thus resolved, he threw her to the bed, missing high and to the right. Her head careened off the night stand, somehow turning on the clock radio to an easy listening station. Tina Turner was singing "Proud Mary", but just the nice and easy part. They paused briefly to check for signs of a concussion.

Not knowing what those signs might be they decided to forge ahead and make love as if they'd never made love before, as if it were the first time. And so they did. They made love in a hurry and badly.

Afterwards, she wondered how she could have been foolish enough to leave a good job in the city, working for the man every night and day.

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06-16-2009 04:01 AM

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GimbalFan
rrProfessor
Location: Copter County, Nv

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When I was in the shower this morning, I thought: If we assume a Big Bang beginning of the universe, then every molecule, every atom, every proton, every electron, every quark, every wavelength, every vibration, every multi-dimensional string, every everything that makes up everything else shares an ineffable property of pre-Bang Oneness.

Assuming that, then every everything is always moving in one of two directions: either away from that primordial state, or returning towards it. We feel these quantum movements. Moving away is experienced as loneliness, fear, anger and despair. Returning is experienced as one or more of the infinite variations and gradations of what we call love.

Now, while some might say that equating the miracle of human feelings to the meandering of sub-atomic bric-a-brac robs them of their mystery, the truth is quite the opposite. Connecting our fundamental experience of life to the great mystery of existence ties us to the eternal within our every waking moment.

We are not separate. We are made of the same stuff that existed at the beginning and will exist at the end. Therefore, the question we must each ask ourselves is simple: "In what direction am I moving today - towards oneness, or away from it?"

When I was done reflecting on this, I stepped out of the shower, toweled off, and, while glancing at the mirror, pondered a new thought: "I have a pretty nice ass for a guy my age."

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06-19-2009 08:33 AM

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trashmanf
Heliman
Location: Kent, WA

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but, a poor sense of humor.

06-22-2009 09:36 PM

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GimbalFan
rrProfessor
Location: Copter County, Nv

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I've always wanted to coin a new word, to create a simple sound that so completely captures a universal human experience, it quickly becomes part of the fabric of our culture. That would be something. People everywhere using my word to express a feeling they had hitherto been unable to articulate. Here are a few of my word ideas, and an example of their proper usage, for your consideration. I hope you use them.

doorgasm - The feeling of relief and pleasure when the person you had casual sex with finally goes home. I feigned a bittersweet smile as she walked out of the bedroom, then was rocked by a powerful doorgasm the second I heard her car start.

gridlove - A delusional fantasy that occurs when you glance at the person in the car next to you in a traffic jam and are momentarily convinced that they are the answer to all your hopes and dreams. Were her feelings real, or were they just gridlove? She didn't care. She just prayed that her lane would catch up to his lane.

homortified - The uncomfortable feeling straight men have when they're watching porn and are momentarily turned on by the wrong ass. Bert was so homortified by the skin flick he was forced to use his imagination.

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06-23-2009 07:59 AM

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Mutt
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Location: M ca usa

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doorgasm - The feeling of relief and pleasure when the person you had casual sex with finally goes home. I feigned a bittersweet smile as she walked out of the bedroom, then was rocked by a powerful doorgasm the second I heard her car start.

Isnt that what happens when you take a 10 home and wake up with a 2? lol

06-24-2009 01:24 PM

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GimbalFan
rrProfessor
Location: Copter County, Nv

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Quote
Isnt that what happens when you take a 10 home and wake up with a 2?

Be they a 10 or be they a 2 -- relief.

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06-24-2009 11:54 PM

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GimbalFan
rrProfessor
Location: Copter County, Nv

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I believe that there is an unspoken contract between those who purport to make comedy and those who watch comedy. That contract states that in exchange for the viewer's time and attention, he or she will experience the simple joy of laughter. Anything less constitutes a breach of contract.

We've worked very hard to hold up our end of the bargain. We hope you've laughed. We certainly have. For those of you who have not fully given us your time and attention, we would expect you to do better in the future. Talking to loved ones while the show is on, even if it's to comment on the show, means you're not really holding up your end.

Try waiting for the commercials to discuss specific jokes and startling plot developments. Another thing to look out for is eating loud food that gets in the way of hearing all the dialogue (this includes eating in a hurry so your dinner will be fully digested before the folks at CSI Miami start poking at cadavers).

Needless to say, all phones must be shut off and toilet visits are allowed only if clothing, furniture and slow-moving pets are threatened. In such cases, viewers are encouraged to leave the bathroom door ajar so they can still hear the show (men are advised to pee on the porcelain part of the bowl to reduce unnecessary "stream" noise).

If the above demands seem onerous, please keep in mind that we have entered into an unspoken comedy contract. Failure on the part of either party to comply with its terms will result in reality TV.

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06-28-2009 12:10 AM

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GimbalFan
rrProfessor
Location: Copter County, Nv

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Corpses don't bleed. At least that's what I kept telling myself as I watched the warm red stuff bubble out of the two bullet holes in my chest. I still had a chance. Not a good chance, but hell, beggars and chumps with thirty-eight caliber slugs in 'em can't be choosers.

How did I end up a blood-dappled throw rug? Would it surprise you if I said there was a dame involved? No, I didn't think so. At the end of the day -- drained, damp and dyin' -- it's always a dame.

Her name was Lola. Lola Levine. You know the type. California blonde with a brunette bikini wax, actress without a SAG card, naughty pictures on a members only web site, and junior cantor at the Beth Israel Synagogue in Beverly Hills. Well, let's call it Beverly Hills adjacent. Ah, what the hell, West Hollywood.

Still, a nice neighborhood to belt out the high holiday Torah favorites. Anyway, Lola Levine -- the reason this Buddha-dabblin' gentile is about to get tucked in for the long dirt nap.

I wish I could say my sudden loss of precious bodily fluids was the result of me gettin' caught doin' the horizontal horah with the very zoftig Ms. Levine. You know, the ol' jealous rabbi with a loaded Smith and Wesson hidden under his milk dishes story. But it's not. Lola didn't like sex. And the rabbi didn't like Lola. No, I am sittin' here in all my ventilated splendor because Lola's sister liked sex.

Her name was Christine. Christine Levine. You know the type. California blonde with a brunette bikini wax, actress without a SAG card, naughty pictures on a members only web site, and trans-sexual Franciscan monk.

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06-30-2009 10:50 AM

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GimbalFan
rrProfessor
Location: Copter County, Nv

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FORMATIVE MOMENTS IN MUSIC

Ten years old: Learn to play Elvis' "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog" on guitar. Have absolutely no idea what the words mean. Is someone misbehaving in a dog-like fashion?

Eleven years old: The Beatles come to America. I deeply understand the obsession to hold a girl's hand, but more importantly, I notice that girls willingly throw the less accessible parts of their bodies at skinny musicians. Get serious about practicing guitar, forget Charles Atlas, start a band and befuddle parents, teachers and friends by insisting on speaking with a British accent.

Twelve years old: Buy my first 45 rpm record. After playing it repeatedly I'm able to visualize a woman walking down a street singing "doo - wah - diddy - diddy - dum - diddy - doo." In my mind's eye she's quite attractive, snapping her fingers and a'shuffling her feet.

Thirteen years old: Buy second 45 with a three note riff that changes my world as it wraps around "baby better come back, maybe next week, cause ya see I'm on a losing streak." At thirteen I've yet to have a losing streak but I have had a bar mitzvah that did not bring me satisfaction.

Fifteen years old: Jimi Hendrix asks me if I'm experienced. I dodge the question & begin to play guitar with my teeth, which is hard to do with braces.

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07-07-2009 04:04 AM

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GimbalFan
rrProfessor
Location: Copter County, Nv

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I don't care what anybody says, I am not a middle-aged man. The middle of something is equidistant from the beginning and the end. A new term has to be coined for people my age.

Five-eighth man is accurate but not likely to catch on.

When people say I look young for my age what they really mean is, "you're not fat and you have hair." When I see guys my age who're fat & bald I feel happy.

My ears and nose are getting bigger. Gravity is defeating my testicles. My waist is on a collision course with my chest. Sleeping is becoming more important than sex. I am now capable of injuring my shoulder by brushing my teeth. I no longer exude testosterone. If anything, I exude Crestor and Tums.

When beautiful young women look at me, they instinctively know, on a deep genetic, cellular level, that I can buy them a house. I do sit-ups anyway. I've begun to resent young men and find reassurance in the knowledge that most of them can't go around buying houses for young women.

I no longer fear that I'm becoming more and more like my parents. I now fear that I'm going to stay like them.

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07-14-2009 08:06 AM

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GimbalFan
rrProfessor
Location: Copter County, Nv

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She's so old . . .

. . . her social security number is 9.

. . . she actually robbed Peter to pay Paul.

. . . she was a fluffer for the Kama Sutra.

. . . she got a senior citizen discount to see Birth of a Nation.

. . . she remembers the mini-mall they tore down to build Stonehenge.

. . . she remembers the best thing BEFORE sliced bread.

. . . she remembers when Helen of Troy's face had launched only a few ships.

. . . she likes older men even though there are none.

. . . when she was in grade school, Geology was called Current Events.

. . . she remembers when there was only one way to skin a cat.

. . . she remembers when the Twin Cities were Sodom & Gomorrah.

. . . she remembers when Old Faithful was young and loose.

. . . her first job was a papyrus route.

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07-15-2009 04:54 AM

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GimbalFan
rrProfessor
Location: Copter County, Nv

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I was born in a women's prison in Mississippi. My mother was serving a life sentence for shooting her boyfriend's roommate. According to court documents, her defense was, "I was aiming at my boyfriend."

My father was a prison guard who would later in life write and illustrate a children's book about a rooster who enjoyed the attention of many chickens. The book was short-listed for a Newbery Award.

I was taken from the prison and sent to live with my maternal grandparents who eked out a meager living selling bathtub thalidomide to circus folk. My early years were uneventful except for being forced to stay up way past my bed time in order to "keep an eye out for angry circus folk."

Desperately unhappy as a teenager, I was sent to a therapist who determined that I was possessed by deeply disturbed spiritual beings that had been imprisoned in a volcano billions of years ago and then blasted with hydrogen bombs by an evil alien warlord.

After the twisted spirits were successfully purged from my body, my depression magically vanished, only to be replaced by self-loathing, arrogance and ulcerative colitis. This, of course, provided a natural segue into my current life as a twice-divorced sitcom writer.

As a footnote, one of the tormented beings pulled from my body went on to unsuccessfully run NBC for several years.

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10-02-2009 12:33 PM

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GimbalFan
rrProfessor
Location: Copter County, Nv

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Dear Oprah,

The following is an excerpt from my forthcoming autobiography, Soul Soiled, a story of degradation, despair and, finally, redemption. I look forward to discussing it with you on your show.

Sincerely,
Chuck Lorre

The thing is, she shouldn't have stolen my heroin. But as I looked down at her battered, cheerleader's body, a bloody twirling baton in my right hand, a dirty hypodermic needle in my left, the only thought rattling around my fevered, junkie brain was whether I could trade her baby for a gun.

I wish I could say I hit rock bottom that night. But my moment of clarity wouldn't come until years later when I was doing hard time in a hard prison.

I was in the hole, which frankly was hard, when Mother Mary came to me. She was speaking words of wisdom, (I think "sagacious" was one of the words) and told me that the only way I could wash the soil from my soul was if I brought laughter to millions of people.

She suggested I get started by writing freelance scripts for Charles in Charge, but not until I found an agent.

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10-25-2009 12:18 AM

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oballzz
Heliman
Location: lilburn ga usa

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LOL

10-25-2009 11:30 AM

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