Funny?
You have no idea.
This clip is a bit longer than I like but damn, it’s worth watching.
The boys from the UK have done it once again.
Now there’s a surprise, huh?
Get some popcorn, cheese and crackers and a beer.
Maybe a Dublin ‘side car’ for good measure.
Good stuff, folks . . .

This is the first post of V 2.0 of Malarky Monday.
The chuckles aren’t going away folks but for now there will only be one blog (per week)
of the four of us that gets the nod from the cyberspacial dugout to post something absurd.
This week it’s my turn and I hope to make you chuckle or at the very least, smile.
Be sure to visit, Moe, Mark & Dilligaf for your daily dose of enlightenment.

This week is a mish-mash of things I happen to find quite funny.
Basically, a usual Malarky Monday for me.
Tune in here next week to see who’s posting the chuckles.

First up is a Chuck Norris-like kick in the proverbial muzzle of the repugnant ‘LOL Cats’
(aka, icanhazcheeseburger)
I personally love this pic . . .

Have you ever wondered why so many urban males wear their
over-sized bluejeans so goddamned low?
I have, too.
Jesus Krispies, their waistline is at the level of their knees for God’s sake.
How the hell do they not walk like penguins?
I think this picture explains it nicely, don’t you?

One .gif image for good measure;
Sodomy has never been funnier, methinks . . .

Last but certainly not least is a short video from a YouTube favorite of mine.
Check out Bad Mystic Cat . . .
(subscribe to Klaatu42 if you like these videos)

Happy Malarky Monday, folks!!!!

This post is somewhat repulsive.
Just my own silly little observation…

I do believe I’ve found a job that I would never want, even if it paid some incredible cash, I still couldn’t do it.
I could never be a tattoo artist.
It’s a short story but it starts with a large woman that I saw standing in line at the Coldstone Ice Cream place one hot summer afternoon.
Judging from the shaking of the ground beneath her feet I’d say she tipped the scales at 300 or so.
This was one big, hunk of a woman.
To get by her on a sidewalk would probably require a city variance of some sort.
I’m rambling.
Sorry.
She was wearing a teeny-tiny pink shirt that showed off her impressive midriff.
Her t-shirt said “You can’t touch this.”
I’m thinking, ‘why would I want to?’
The overall effect was—how shall I say it, globe-like?
Ohhbese? (bigger than obese)
Palatial?
I was unfortunately behind her which is where the thought of never being a tattoo artist came to mind.
I could see the small of her back (a contradiction if ever there was one)
and the unsightly crack of her heiny, a good 2” worth.
Plumbers crack on a woman.
Nice.
Real nice.
Rising up out of the murky depths of her posterior was a tattoo of some kind.
I didn’t want to stare for fear of going stark raving mad so I never found out just what it was.
I have a few ideas as to what it could have been but I really don’t want to go there.
She ordered a mountainous vat of 5 or so flavors mixed together with Butterfinger’s and M & M’s and Jimmies and God knows what else; a reasonable caloric addition to her vast temple of flesh.
Maybe they need to implement some type of weight scale in front of the Coldstone register and if you
happen to “pin the needle” you can only have fat-free yogurt in a kid’s cup.
Hey, life’s a bitch sometimes.
I guess I came away from the experience #1) wondering why some people dress the way they do and
#2) wondering who the lucky son of a bitch was that had to spend 4 hours looking at this woman’s vast backside.
I bet his story is really something to chew on.

~m

It is once again Malarky Monday and time to get your freak on.
By now I think you’ve got the general idea.
Take a gander at my findings for the week and stroll on over to my other
freaky-deakies to see what they’ve found for the week.
Mondays will never be the same!!!

Please visit:

Moe!

Morky!!

Dilligaf!!!

This week I am going low-tech.
No mind blowing science stuff here.
Read on, you’ll see . . .

Three women in a sauna
Three women, two younger and one senior citizen, were sitting naked in a sauna.
Suddenly there was a beeping sound.
The young woman pressed her forearm and the beep stopped.
The others looked at her questioningly.
“That was my pager,” she said, “I have a microchip under the skin of my arm.”

A few minutes later, a phone rang.
The second young woman lifted her palm to her ear.
When she finished, she explained, “That was my mobile phone. I have a microchip in my hand.”

The older woman felt very low-tech.
Not to be out done, she decided she had to do something as impressive.
She stepped out of the sauna and went to the bathroom.
She returned with a piece of toilet paper hanging from her rear end.
The two young women raised their eyebrows and stared at her.
The older woman finally said, “Well, will you look at that. I’m getting a fax!”
{*rimshot/cymbal crash}

Everyone has heard of Guitar Hero, right?
Hi-tech game stuff, software, hardware . . .  yeech.
Here’s something that’s down several notches for those not quite
hip enough to handle the guitar thing . . .

(cue up ‘Tie a Yellow Ribbon’ please . . . )

Last but certainly not least is a little video that addresses an issue
from days of long, long ag0.
Before IT Support there may have been something called the Medieval HelpDesk.
This was just too funny and fit perfectly with my luddite-themed post.
Enjoy.

Happy Malarky Monday!

Welcome to Malarky Monday!
I’m  hoping you get the idea by now.
After visiting here, click the links to the Malarky Monday gang and laugh your pants off!

This week is all about annoying things.
I’ve dealt with many lately so this post seemed natural in the overall scheme of things.

Yeah, fruit can be annoying.
And be annoyed . . .

There’s nothing more annoying than being chased by a 10-point buck loaded
with heat-seeking missiles.
I love .gif images . . .

Cell phones?
Annoying.
Especially when playing ‘You oughta know’
by Alanis Morissette.
God, she’s annoying . . .

Finally, there is nothing more annoying than
a woman that badly needs some mustache wax.
Nothing.
Her husband looks like he’s going to get his ass kicked when they get home.
Click on the picture to go to the website . . .

Now off you go!
Visit:
Moe
Morky
and
Dilligaf

& Happy Malarky Monday!

God willing, Pamela and I will be traveling to North Queensland, Australia in 2011.
It’s a long story as far as my newborn love of a country I’ve yet to see but know that
most of the story is already here on the blog.
Troll the tag ‘Australia’ and I think you’ll begin to see why.
We have taken into our hearts two people from the ‘Godzone’ and will be spending
three wonderful weeks with them this coming July.
That said, I found this essay tonight from a favorite writer of mine and thought it was worthy
of a pass along.
Adams has amazed me for years if only for his twists of ideas and language.
When I saw his thoughts on Australia, I had to share this.
It is, for the most part, a tongue-in-cheek look at a country/continent/ island  most of us barely understand.
Pamela and I feel like we’re getting close though.
And we love it, vegemite/Bundaberg and all.
I just want to see the Southern Cross.
Too much to ask?
I think not.
*btw-Pamela is not laughing about all the insects, spiders and other yukky, crawly things Downunder.
I told her, get a stick.

This is Douglas Adams and his deepest thoughts on Australia.

______________________________________________

Australia is a very confusing place, taking up a large amount of the Bottom half of the planet.
It is recognisable from orbit because of many unusual features,
including what at first looks like an enormous bite taken out of its southern edge;
a wall of sheer cliffs which plunge deep into the girting sea.
Geologists assure us that this is simply an accident of geomorphology and plate tectonics,
but they still call it the “Great Australian Bight” proving that not only are they covering up a more frightening theory, but they can’t spell either.

The first of the confusing things about Australia is the status of the place.
Where other land masses and sovereign lands are classified as either continent, island, or country,
Australia is considered all three.

Typically, it is unique in this.

The second confusing thing about Australia are the animals.
They can be divided into three categories: Poisonous, Odd, and Sheep.

It is true that of the 10 most poisonous arachnids on the planet, Australia has 9 of them.
Actually, it would be more accurate to say that of the 9 most poisonous arachnids, Australia has all of them.
However, there are curiously few snakes, possibly because the spiders have killed them all.
But even the spiders won’t go near the sea.

Any visitors should be careful to check inside boots (before putting them on),
under toilet seats (before sitting down) and generally everywhere else.
A stick is very useful for this task.

Strangely, it tends to be the second class of animals (the Odd) that are more dangerous.
The creature that kills the most people each year is the common Wombat.
It is nearly as ridiculous as its name, and spends its life digging holes in the ground, in which it hides.
During the night it comes out to eat worms and grubs.

The wombat kills people in two ways:
First, the animal is indestructible.
Digging holes in the hard Australian clay builds muscles that outclass Olympic weight lifters.
At night, they often wander the roads. Semi-trailers (Road Trains) have hit them at high speed, with all 9 wheels on one side, and this merely makes them very annoyed.
They express this by snorting, glaring, and walking away.
Alas, to smaller cars, the wombat becomes a symmetrical launching pad, with results that can be imagined, but not adequately described.

The second way the wombat kills people relates to its burrowing behaviour.
If a person happens to put their hand down a Wombat hole, the Wombat will feel the disturbance and think
“Ho! My hole is collapsing!” at which it will brace its muscled legs and push up against the roof of its burrow with incredible force, to prevent its collapse.
Any unfortunate hand will be crushed, and attempts to withdraw will cause the Wombat to simply bear down harder. The unfortunate will then bleed to death through their crushed hand as the wombat prevents him from seeking assistance.
This is considered the third most embarrassing known way to die,
and Australians don’t talk about it much.

At this point, we would like to mention the Platypus, estranged relative of the mammal,
which has a duck-bill, otter’s tail, webbed feet, lays eggs,
detects its aquatic prey in the same way as the electric eel,
and has venomous barbs attached to its hind legs,
thus combining all ‘typical’ Australian attributes into a single improbable creature.

The last confusing thing about Australia is the inhabitants.
First, a short history:
Some time around 40,000 years ago, some people arrived in boats from the north.
They ate all the available food, and lot of them died.
The ones that survived learned respect for the balance of nature, man’s proper place in the scheme of things, and spiders. They settled in, and spent a lot of the intervening time making up strange stories.
Then, around 200 years ago,
Europeans arrived in boats from the north.
More accurately, European convicts were sent, with a few deranged and stupid people in charge.
They tried to plant their crops in Autumn
(failing to take account of the reversal of the seasons when moving from the top half of the planet to the bottom),
ate all their food, and a lot of them died.

About then the sheep arrived, and have been treasured ever since.
It is interesting to note here that the Europeans always consider themselves vastly superior to any other race they encounter, since they can lie, cheat, steal, and litigate (marks of a civilised culture they say) – whereas all the Aboriginals can do is happily survive being left in the middle of a vast red-hot desert, equipped with a stick.
Eventually, the new lot of people stopped being Europeans on Extended Holiday and became Australians.

The changes are subtle, but deep, caused by the mind-stretching expanses of nothingness and eerie quiet,
where a person can sit perfectly still and look deep inside themselves to the core of their essence,
their reasons for being, and the necessity of checking inside your boots every morning for fatal surprises.
They also picked up the most finely tuned sense of irony in the world,
and the Aboriginal gift for making up stories.

Be warned.
There is also the matter of the beaches.
Australian beaches are simply the nicest and best in the entire world.
Although anyone actually venturing into the sea will have to contend with sharks,
stinging jellyfish, stonefish (a fish which sits on the bottom of the sea, pretends to be a rock, and has venomous barbs sticking out of its back that will kill just from the pain)
and surfboarders.
However, watching a beach sunset is worth the risk.

As a result of all this hardship, dirt, thirst, and wombats, you would expect Australians to be a dour lot.
Instead, they are genial, jolly, cheerful, and always willing to share a kind word with a stranger, unless they are an American.
Faced with insurmountable odds and impossible problems, they smile disarmingly and look for a stick.

Major engineering feats have been performed with sheets of corrugated iron, string, and mud.
Alone of all the races on earth, they seem to be free from the ‘Grass is Greener on the other side of the fence’ syndrome, and roundly proclaim that Australia is, in fact, the other side of that fence.
They call the land “Oz”, “Godzone” (a verbal contraction of “God’s Own Country”) and
“Best bloody place on earth, bar none, strewth.”
The irritating thing about this is they may be right.

There are some traps for the unsuspecting traveler, though.
Do not under any circumstances suggest that the beer is imperfect, unless you are comparing it to another kind of Australian beer.
Do not wear a Hawaiian shirt.
Religion and Politics are safe topics of conversation (Australians don’t care too much about either)
but Sport is a minefield.
The only correct answer to “So, howdya’ like our country, eh?” is ”
Best {insert your own regional swear word here} country in the world!”.

It is very likely that, on arriving, some cheerful Australians will ‘adopt’ you on your first night,
and take you to a pub where Australian Beer is served. Despite the obvious danger, do not refuse.
It is a form of initiation rite.

You will wake up late the next day with an astonishing hangover, a foul-taste in your mouth, and wearing strange clothes. Your hosts will usually make sure you get home, and waive off any legal difficulties with “It’s his first time in Australia, so we took him to the pub.”, to which the policeman will sagely nod and close his notebook.
Be sure to tell the story of these events to every other Australia, you encounter,
adding new embellishments at every stage, and noting how strong the beer was.

Thus you will be accepted into this unique culture.
Most Australians are now urban dwellers, having discovered the primary use of electricity, which is air-conditioning and refrigerators.

Typical Australian sayings:

* “G’Day!”

* “It’s better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.”

* “She’ll be right, mate.”

* “And down from Kosciusko, where the pine clad ridges raise their torn and rugged battlements on high, where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze at midnight in the cold and frosty sky.
And where, around the overflow, the reed beds sweep and sway to the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide. The Man from Snowy River is a household word today, and the stockmen tell the story of his ride.”

Tips to Surviving Australia:

* Don’t ever put your hand down a hole for any reason whatsoever. We mean it.

* The beer is stronger than you think, regardless of how strong you think it is.

* Always carry a stick.

* Air-conditioning.

* Do not attempt to use Australian slang, unless you are a trained linguist and good in a fist fight.

* Thick socks.

* Take good maps. Stopping to ask directions only works when there are people nearby.

* If you leave the urban areas, carry several litres of water with you at all times, or you will die.

* Even in the most embellished stories told by Australians, there is always a core of truth that it is unwise to ignore.

See Also:
“Deserts: How to die in them”,
“The Stick: Second most useful thing ever” and
“Poisonous and Venomous arachnids, insects, animals, trees, shrubs, fish and sheep of Australia, volumes 1-42″

Welcome to Malarky Monday!
(the *I Spy edition)
This is the one day of the week that we offer up some
of the crazy stuff we find floating around the web.
We hope to make you giggle, spit, laugh, cry until it hurts and ultimately smile.
There’s nothing here that will take a boatload of time so be sure to visit
my fellows in hijinx!

Moe!
Morky!!
Dilligaf!!!

This week I ‘spied’ some serious and epic fails on the net.
Here are several leviathan food fails.
Anyone for some canned chicken?
I spy wicked disgusting.

How about a bacon rifle?
I wonder if it can fire a fried egg?
I spy a stupid guy way too proud of a pork product.

Or my personal favorite: Meat Water
Mmm, mmm, mmm
You just can’t beat the combination of ground beef and aged cheddar.
I didn’t even mention the ease of portability.
Got ketchup?
I spy a drink that’s light years away from thirst quenching.

Last but not least this hysterical cat clip.
I spy a seriously funny cat.

Happy Malarky Monday!

Malarky Monday is HERE!

AND HERE!

AND HERE!

AND HERE!

You know the drill by now.
Watch, read, listen and [hopefully] LAUGH!
Visit the above links after your visit here and be sure to have some
paper towels to wipe off your computer monitor.

I originally intended to go all political this week but have decided against it.
I’m not wussing out, I just hate listening to a certain faction of people whine incessantly
about the small stuff, okay?
That said, here are some pics that had me howling at the mOOn, so to speak.
Happy Malarky Monday peeples!!!
Be sure to click on the linx above after your visit here.
Danke . . .

Hopefully, you’ve heard or seen Chris Farley,
the motivational speaker
from Saturday Night Live.
Saw this and busted two guts . . .

This geographical phenomenon has always bugged me as well.

My God, I hated my 8th grade English teacher.
She had legs that belonged on a Grand piano and no tits whatsoever.
No wonder I never got a hankering for Raymond Carver.
Bummer.
Thanks for nothing, Nancy . . .

Last but not least, I am chillin’ out
wit my gnomies . . .

Happy Malarky Monday!!!!

Welcome to Malarky Monday!
If you haven’t been here, done that and bought the t-shirt
we take the first day of the week to see if we can get you to one simple thing:
Smile!
It’s silly but we are having a hell of a time doing it.
This is our ‘Silver Anniversary’ week.
25 posts!
Be sure to visit my fellows in hijinx from the land of Oz after your brief visit here.

*Moe
*Morky
*Dilligaf

Thought I would bring back my little kitty friend from several weeks ago.
This time he’s had a bit too much catnip.
Seems he really likes the stuff.

And never, EVER, trust a kangaroo.
the sneaky, bloody bastards . . . 

Don’t leave home without these . . .
(wtf?)
Makes anything into a sandwich, huh?
Too bad they don’t have pumpernickel . . .

Last but not least . . .
Have you been to the movies lately?
Mmmm . . .  yeah, I thought so.

Happy Malarky Monday folks!
Be sure to visit my whacky friends!

I run into many interesting people during the course of my day in Boston.
This morning a customer took me by surprise with a true story that was just too damn funny not to share. I am not making this up folks.
May not be suitable for reading the kids before bed either.
I made mention of the fact that I had made chili on Wednesday when BLH said, “I gotta good chili story for ya.”

In the (somewhat) paraphrased words of BLH:

“This was several years ago when I was living next to two gay guys.
Great guys, too.
They did their thing, I did mine, ya know?
Live and let live, I say.
Anyway, my kitchen window looked right into theirs as it was less than 15 feet away.
So this one summer day, I’m making chili.
Beautiful day, windows open, music on and I’m chopping up onions and garlic and Habanero peppers for my chili.
I leave the kitchen for a minute to go and take a piss and resume my cooking.
It’s not even 2 minutes later that  ‘Mr. Willy’ starts to heat up.
Like really heating up.
I look at the Habanero peppers now nicely chopped and look down at my crotch and think, “Dear God, no.”
Within 5 minutes, I realize that ‘Mr. Willy’ needs some serious medical attention.
This is getting painful.
And really hot.
I get a facecloth, soak it in cold water and drop my pants right there in the middle of the kitchen.
It didn’t take long to realize that all the wet facecloth did was move all the hot stuff down to my
two soon-to-be ‘Hot Mexican jumping beans’.
I was in too much pain and making too many oohs and ahhs to realize that I was also gathering something of an audience 15 feet across the way.
With my crotch turning into a smoking Mojave desert, I was getting desperate.
(Is that steam?)
Christ, I’m on fire down there!
I suddenly remembered buying a big container of sour cream for the chili and
waddled like a penguin over to the fridge.
I ripped open the container like a madman, took a fistful of the cool white stuff
and began rubbing it in gobs into the raging fire down below.
My oohs, ahhs and general sounds of relief were obviously misinterpreted by my now smiling neighbors across the way.
There I am with my pants down, breathing heavy, and sour cream smeared all over my crotch.
Beautiful.
A proud Kodak moment for me, ya know?
I’m close to my mother so I told her the story, and man, did she laugh.
Two weeks later, I’m out to breakfast with her at a place she frequently goes.
The waitress brings my breakfast of fried eggs, home fries and bacon
but on the side of the plate is a small tub of sour cream.
I asked the waitress, “What’s up with the sour cream?”
She winked and said, “Your mother says you really like it.”
(I am laughing hysterically now)
You’ll be thinking about this every time you make chili now, right?”

Yeah, BLH, you are sooo right.
Was it a funny Thursday morning for me?
You betcha schweet bippie.
Thanks for a great tale, BLH
You have total attribution.
I just hope I did you some justice.
(BLH’s version is much funnier but has a different rating)
Hopefully ’Mr. Willy’ has found some cooler climes by now.
And, BLH, I hope you were using low-fat sour cream.
That regular stuff is just plain nasty . . .