Another comedic misfire brought to you by yours truly 😒
I am very blessed to be the godfather of the newest addition to the family and that means I have seized the opportunity to make as many “Godfather” references as humanly possible.
A few days ago my dad text me saying “how u doing, godfather?” To which I replied with the second of the two Godfather references I can make and said “DO NOT ASK ME ABOUT MY BUSINESS!” Pretty solid, right?
So I don’t hear from him for two days and our next digitized dialogue has to do with his desire to see me diversify my dinner menu beyond the microwave. However, my fear is that my so much as preheating the oven and cooking up some concoction will lead to an unappetizing epidemic that social studies books 30 years from now will refer to as the “Wootonic Plague” and the “Blond Death”
Sunday, October 28, 2018
Thursday, October 25, 2018
Tough Crowd
Sometimes my jokes don’t go over the way I plan (yeah Mark, we know!)
My brother, my dad and myself have a group chat that was originally intended to keep each other accountable for exercising called the “Gym” chat. Unfortunately, the content of the conversation has strayed from its origins, but the group name is the same. Mainly because “Fart Jokes and Fight Nights” doesn’t fit as a group name. I had them over for the Mcgregor vs Khabib fight and at the end of the night my dad texted the group saying “Great night guys! Thank you Mark for hosting.” Now, if you watched the fight you know that after it was over, Khabib jumped into the audience and started whaling on someone. This is a huge “no no.” Among the post-it note of precautions taken in the UFC rule book are: 1. Don’t ruin the other guys chances of passing his single remaining brain cell down to his kids with a low blow 2. The cage is an enclosure, not a jungle gym 3. No interaction with the audience, this is a combat sport, not a Blue Man Group concert. So after my dad sent his text, I replied by saying “No problem! After you guys left I jumped the neighbors fence and started fighting their dog for some reason......” I’m not going to lie, I was kinda giggling to myself as I typed out the message and anxiously awaited their replies. And waited and waited and waited. The group chat saw no activity until there was a completely unrelated text the next morning. My hope is that there was some sort of cell phone snafu that caused the silence, but my fear is that the silence was a form of communication ☹️ oh well, they can’t all be winners.
My brother, my dad and myself have a group chat that was originally intended to keep each other accountable for exercising called the “Gym” chat. Unfortunately, the content of the conversation has strayed from its origins, but the group name is the same. Mainly because “Fart Jokes and Fight Nights” doesn’t fit as a group name. I had them over for the Mcgregor vs Khabib fight and at the end of the night my dad texted the group saying “Great night guys! Thank you Mark for hosting.” Now, if you watched the fight you know that after it was over, Khabib jumped into the audience and started whaling on someone. This is a huge “no no.” Among the post-it note of precautions taken in the UFC rule book are: 1. Don’t ruin the other guys chances of passing his single remaining brain cell down to his kids with a low blow 2. The cage is an enclosure, not a jungle gym 3. No interaction with the audience, this is a combat sport, not a Blue Man Group concert. So after my dad sent his text, I replied by saying “No problem! After you guys left I jumped the neighbors fence and started fighting their dog for some reason......” I’m not going to lie, I was kinda giggling to myself as I typed out the message and anxiously awaited their replies. And waited and waited and waited. The group chat saw no activity until there was a completely unrelated text the next morning. My hope is that there was some sort of cell phone snafu that caused the silence, but my fear is that the silence was a form of communication ☹️ oh well, they can’t all be winners.
Monday, October 8, 2018
Student Driver
I have seen a lot of scary things on cars in my day. Treacherous trunk trinkets like bumper stickers with curse words, New York Yankee stickers on vandalism-worthy vehicles who have clearly taken a wrong turn and wandered deep into the heart of Red Sox country. However, the most attention grabbing auto ornament I have laid eyes on are cars with the catastrophic coupling of words informing me that the car in front is under the command of a "Student Driver." Everyone has to go through the process learning at some point and I understand that. In fact, it is mostly the teachers I have a problem with. I was behind a student driver doing 20mph in a 30mph zone for what felt like an eternity. The frequency and ferocity with which the brakes were being hit lead me to the only conceivable conclusions that either there was a small creature loose in that car both of them were unsuccessfully trying to kill or they were the first contestants on the new GSN Smash hit game show "Crash Cab." Now, I feel comfortable sharing something with you about one of my dads' shortcomings as a father because for him, getting into Facebook is like breaking into Fort Knox so I am sure he will never see this (RIGHT, PEOPLE?!) when he was teaching me to drive he said "Go five miles per hour over the speed limit to keep with the flow of traffic ('but Mark, it is a speed LIMIT! Yeah, well the rim of an ice bowl is the limit to a serving, but do we obey that? No, we compact that sucker down with a spoon like we are packing to leave for a Candy Land Cruise in the morning, heap on a Himalayan mountains sized helping of whipped cream on the top and pray that gravity and gluttony cooperate for the return trip to the couch. My point being, there are grey areas. Proverbs says "Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it." So, please for the LOVE OF GOD, train them to go a little faster!
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