Tag Archives: humor

SMACKDOWN

It started out like any other day at The Greasy Burger. Jake, Dave, Ryan and Val stood around, chatting about being bored and what their weekend plans were, as they waited for lunch rush.

The main dining room was clean, bathrooms were pristine, all the condiments were filled, including a bin overflowing with packages of butter medallions. The soda fountain percolated with fresh carbonation canisters and the ice machine was filled to the brim. They were ready. Ready for battle.

As the first few hungry customers filtered in, Ryan leaned over to Val and whispered he hoped the lunch crowd would only take condiments they needed. He oversaw refilling them and witnessed customers leave piles of ketchup packets or butter on the table every…single…day. It infuriated Ryan because he would have to throw out unused packages merely because they had been removed from the bin. He thought it was a huge waste.

Kristi, the manager, stood gallantly off to the side, watching her strategically placed staff as they began to service more hungry patrons. Jake and Ryan took their stance at the cash registers while Dave and Val worked feverishly in the back fulfilling orders.

Within an hour, the crew was inundated and The Greasy Burger was filled to capacity. Kristi noticed they were busier than usual but her staff seemed amped and ready to go. Dave and Val were bouncing on the balls of their feet as if about to perform a tag-team wrestling match on WWE.

Beads of sweat dripped from Jake’s pulsating temples. Kristi spoke into her intercom, directing Dave to swap positions with Jake. Dave jumped up, smacked his hands together with over-enthusiastic excitement and tapped Jake on the shoulder, signaling he was ready to take over.

People stood shoulder-to-shoulder as the lines became longer and tighter. Customer complaints that began as a whisper intensified into a rumbling moan. A large man at the center yelled as he was nearly hit in the face by another man who was fervently waving a piece of paper around in the air. The paper-waving man hollered back. A woman behind him passively told him to “shut up,” while others began to push their way forward, shoving and shoulder checking one another like a mosh pit. When the paper-flailing man finally reached the front of Ryan’s line, his eyes scowled like a beast about to pounce on his prey. He slammed his receipt onto the counter.

Ryan leaned in to listen to the man’s complaint over the mob. The receipt wielding man’s accent was so thick, Ryan could barely make out his complaint about receiving a wrong order. He diligently reviewed the receipt and remembered entering it into the system. Ryan tried to explain he had given him exactly what he ordered, but the man’s rage boiled over as he shouted and pounded his fists on the counter, making it harder for Ryan to decipher the man’s words. Ryan’s chest heaved with each quickened explanation, his voice becoming louder as his impatience grew.

Kristi walked over to Ryan’s cash register to gauge the situation. Another customer began to shout about empty condiments. Ryan’s eyes twitched.  Jake bounced over like he was on a springy mat and tapped Ryan on the shoulder. Ryan clapped his hands together and swiped them out like a blackjack dealer walking away with clean hands and made his way to refill the condiments.

Across from the order counter, as he was filling condiments, Ryan heard Kristi shout for him to return to the register. She seemed angry.

“Do you want me on condiments or on the register?” he snipped at her.

Ryan quickly filled what condiments he could, then squeezed his way back through the crowd and stood next to Jake still working with the same disgruntled customer.

Ryan waved his hands in the air, “Look! I can’t understand what you’re saying!”

Before Kristi could intervene, Ryan reached into his apron pocket, grabbed a handful of packets he had left from refiling the condiment bin, tossed them at the man and said “Here! Have some butter!”

THE END

Sleep tight for me!

 

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THE RELUCTANT GARDENER

ThistleAt long last, I’m posting the screenplay I wrote as an animated short about Black Thumb Merrie’s perils as a reluctant gardener and her battle with nature. Follow her on her journey as she goes from a bubbly new homeowner ready to tackle yard maintenance and beautification to a crazed, accidental murderer of innocent foliage.

The Reluctant Gardener

Sleep tight for me, I’m gone.


NO GOOD DEEDS

smoke-69124_1280I wrote an episode for a web series called No Good Deeds. Because the shows that were produced are owned by the school (student created) I cannot post the pilot episode for viewing here. But because one needs to have seen the first episode to pick up on some of the humor and serial elements of the story, I will provide a synopsis for you.

Roy is in his late 20s, but is a bit nervous and awkward, always feeling as though his gestures are not good enough, especially for his father (Ernest). In the first episode, Roy visits his dad in the hospital. He quickly realizes that a little plastic figurine of a flower he brings in is not as good as what he sees others bring for their loved ones. Immediately he is  embarrassed.

When Ernest awakes he is in a state of panic and tells Roy that he doesn’t want the hospital to put him on life support and that it is Roy’s duty to make sure he isn’t. Roy is confused and surprised by this, considering there should be no reason such extreme consequences should happen over a routine colonoscopy. Ernest then tells Roy that he should do something with his life, other than playing with his video game gadgets, that will do some good in the world and then sends him to get coffee.

In the waiting room, as Roy pours coffee, he sees a young woman crying. She dumps her bouquet of lilies in the trash. Since she no longer seems to have a use for them, he decides that he will pluck them out–a much better gift than what he originally brought. He places them on the bedside table, next to his snoozing father, and returns to get the coffee.

Unfortunately, when Roy returns, his father has been placed on life support. The doctor isn’t much help in explaining how this could have happened given he just had a routine procedure. When the doctor leaves the room, Roy remembers his father told him that he didn’t want to be on life support. Roy finds the source for the machine and unplugs it from the wall. Shortly after his father flatlines the doctor returns, with a needle in her hand, exclaiming that it was only an allergic reaction–Ernest is allergic to the lilies.

Ernest, now a ghost, follows his son around. No one else can see or hear him. Ernest tries to encourage (guilt-trip) his son into keeping his promise of doing good deeds. Unfortunately, no good deed goes unpunished (as the saying goes).

Here is my episode, “No Good Deeds, All Soaked Up.”

 

 


THE JET STREAM

Oh the follies of being a reluctant gardener and landscape maintenance technician. After we had been in our home for a couple of years–you know, settled in but still haven’t mastered the lay of the land–I went out and bought a new hose attachment. It seemed as though each summer we needed to replace one; thus, this go ‘round, I spent a little more time searching for just the right kind. I especially needed something heavy duty enough to withstand the playful abuse from children. I was sure I had found it.

As soon as I returned home, I immediately opened, attached it and began to play around with the various settings. One notch was for a fine mist that seemed more fun than useful. Another seemed quite useful for watering down the flowerbeds–it sprayed more like a showerhead. Then, I found the jet stream. Very Interesting.

Since our brick-colored paver patio was in desperate need of a clean, I thought this particular setting would be a great tool to power wash it. The stream was nowhere near as powerful as one of those actual power washer thingamabobs, but it probably could have stripped some of the paint off the shake siding. Feeling clever, I pointed the nozzle at the pavers and blasted away.

Now imagine Tom Hanks in Castaway when he created fire. This was me, beaming with pride as I hosed down the patio. Dirt blew out of every pore and crevice. I was doing a happy dance! “Dirt! I have power cleaned dirt from patio! Ahahahaha!” I had found a new tool and a new toy that made a job fun and easy–so I thought.

Can you see where this is going yet? Have you anticipated the havoc I wreaked upon my future self? Now, fast forward about two weeks. It was a perfect late-summer evening–not too hot and not too humid, with just a subtle breeze. While my husband was grilling brats, I relaxed at the patio table and sipped my wine. When the brats were finished he brought them over to the table, but dropped one on the way. He picked it up and set it aside. Within seconds an army of ants burst out from between our pavers to pluck up the greasy remnants. They popped out of there so quickly and with such a force it reminded me of the scarabs from The Mummy. All I could do was stare.

We had been grilling in that same spot since we moved in and food had been dropped, especially with young children around, a number of times with no issue. I had never seen such a sight, but didn’t think much of it at the time. I was fascinated, but still clueless. A couple of weeks later I noticed a few weeds beginning to creep up between some of the pavers. I quickly pulled them, naively thinking that would be the end of it.

Another few weeks went by when I noticed the army of ants had multiplied three-fold. Tall mounds of sand seemed to have formed overnight and more weeds popped through. What the hell?!? We were being taken over. I couldn’t believe that the grease from one fricken brat could have caused such a problem. And then…then, I remembered. THE JET STEAM!

It wasn’t dirt I had been blasting away. It was the paver sand used to seal the joints! Yes ladies and gentlemen, in my jet stream creating moment of premature pride, I had thoroughly removed the very sealer that was used to lock the blocks in place, seal the joints and block out the ants and the weeds. I’ll take my dramatic bow of shame now.

Sleep tight for me. I’m gone!


WAVING THE WHITE FLAG

Frustrated GardenerThe ever-mounting yard work haunts me. It’s low maintenance, they said. Yeah, right! What they didn’t tell me, and I failed to realize in my first-time-homebuyer naivety, was that I would be fighting a battle against weeds every spring, summer and fall for the next TEN YEARS. And, sometimes, those damn weeds look as pretty as a flower! It’s very hard to tell with my untrained eyes.

I started out strong, I really did. I quite literally dug in. I may have won a few battles over the years, but, unfortunately, the weeds are beginning to win the war. I suppose it doesn’t help that we live very, very close to a nature preserve/center. At least this is what I tell myself to justify my inability to gain advancement in any siege.

It is as if nature is laughing at me. Taunting me. Once I have made a clearing and have begun to make another, sprays of thistly, noxious, itch-inducing evil cascade across the soil, having multiplied three-fold! It’s almost like playing whack-a-mole.

Sleep tight for me, I’m gone.

Don’t forget to “like” my Facebook Page.


WHEN I’M OLD

A few years ago IExplicit saw a meme float around Facebook with a picture of an old woman that said “the only thing golden about my golden years is my urine.” I damn near rolled on the floor laughing, figuratively speaking of course.

I’ve decided to adopt that motto when I am her age. That statement fits my personality so well. I have also decided that I will say “fuck” a lot. I like that word. So many things can be expressed by just one little word. George Carlin gloriously explains:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xZkb4TPI-Lo&oref=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DxZkb4TPI-Lo&has_verified=1

Or, perhaps I need to adopt “fuck off” more often. The comedian Billy Connolly expresses the appreciation for that statement and/or sentiment so much better than I ever could.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJMqdTr7IQM

And, what amazes me even more is the very fact that for nearly a week I have struggled with writer’s block. I have an article for a career-based newsletter I must write and I’m stuck. I have had a million random thoughts cross my mind for this blog, even, but nothing has seemed to inspire me—until it is passed my bedtime and I decided to make a random blurb about what I aspire to be when I’m old.

IDEAS!!!!

More to come, I guess. Sleep tight!