Hello world!

May 5, 2009

This is the first issue of the Goofus Gazette I’ve posted on this site:

VOL. II: 18 MAY 3, 2009

Our daffoidils are sad and drooping this week, proving once again that Time Marches On. So is my face. I noticed a few days ago that I now have those “Howdy Doody” cheeks (accompanied by an irresistible urge to say things like, “Gosh, Buffalo Bob”). If I weren’t so bloody large I might want to sit on somebody’s knee and sing while he/she drinks a glass of water.
Everything goes south, though, I guess. That cartoon I wouldn’t let Bill publish received a lot of attention this week. In essence it was about an old lady who sunbathed topless and had the tan lines to prove it—down below her waist. I didn’t object to it because I thought it was “dirty”; it really wasn’t. I just found it too sad and maybe hurtful for us “Ladies of a Certain Age” to find amusing.
Have you guys been watching any of the “Real Housewives of ________?” The California girls are bad enough, then the Atlanta “ladies” are anything but, but the New York City ladies are a species all their own. All they do—literally—is spend money on the most outrageously expensive things that can be bought. They all assert that they don’t give a fig about how rich they are because it all belongs to them; they own the world. Their only fear is growing old. The rest of us worry about putting food on the table, maintaining a roof over our heads, putting kids through school (or bailing them out of jail, maybe), but these gals live to go to fashion shows, gossip and buy things. Getting older is their antagonist—that, and becoming unattractive to their rich husbands.
Lucky for me, I was already unattractive when Mr. Bill married me. He never has been able to find me unattractive. The poor guy thinks I’m cute, for what that’s worth. I still can’t believe it sometimes, but it’s true. Every woman should be so lucky, eh? He says that when I smile at him, I am adorable and it makes his day. Sometimes I’d like to write a long letter to those NYC women and tell them what it’s like to be truly loved by a man who is not rich by their standards, but who knows how to spend his love lavishly.
Hey—now I’m smiling! Now I don’t look so much like Howdy Doody. Maybe more like Alfred E. Neuman.
Mr. Bill really enjoyed hearing from so many of my old girlfriends about his cartoon. He chuckled fiendishly as he responded to each request to see it, and got some pretty funny responses back. He loves my girlfriends, and corresponds with them in many silly ways, like those pain-in-the-butt “pokes” on Facebook and other such goofery. He’s such a little kid when it comes to stuff like “poking”. I now refer to him as “Pokeymon”.
One day last week I said, “Can you take this stuff to the post office for me?” and he replied. “Not yet. I’ve got bills to pay.” After a few seconds, he added, “Though why he wears it is beyond me.” Tee hee.
I got him back, though. We were watching some fashion show and suddenly I said, “I know the perfect name for the Chinese butler.” Bill said, “What?”
I said, “Yu Wang.” He did me the honor of laughing out loud (I’d rather die than write “LOL”). He doesn’t often guffaw, so I felt elated.
On Wednesday evening we made chicken cacciatore, which brought on whole slew of witticisms. First he said, “Hmm. Could a chicken really run fast enough to catch a Tory?” This made me think of the scenario: brave chickens of Lexington and Concord, armed only with full ninja gear and the convictions of their hearts, set upon the unsuspecting Tories in an onslaught of pecking and cackling, catching them unawares as they slept. I’ll tell ya, it was heart-stirring.
Thursday evening we had the leftovers, except that Bill couldn’t remember what the stuff was called. “Chickamauga? Chimichanga? Chattanooga? Cochlear implant? Cattywhompus?”
In the immortal words of Pat Boone, “Great Coogamooga!”
I called my stockbroker today and asked, “what are you buying”?
His answer: “Canned goods and ammunition.”
(Submitted by Cousin Joan Garrity)

Here’s one to add to your category of creative spelling.
Third graders were asked to respond to the prompt “If you could be a superhero, how would you use your powers?”
One reply was quite simple. “I would get rid of bad gas.” Although we all knew he meant “bad guys”, we thought bad gas was a much better idea. It still makes me chuckle! — Pat Smith
In our 6th grade class at Dundalk Elementary School, our teacher was the beleaguered Peter Eshmont. We gave him a tough row to hoe, but he manfully hung in there, bless his heart. One day he handed our papers back to us—a short paragraph about something. The kid next to me burst out laughing, and Mr. E wanted to know what was so funny, so the kid showed him the paper. Next to a word circled in red ink was the word “mispelled”.
Mr. E. got red in the face and said, “Well, don’t blame me—my wife corrected these papers!”
Being the brats we were, we never let him forget it.
Rita Rose sent us this one and it really got to me:
A girl asks her boyfriend to come over Friday night to meet, and have dinner with her parents.
Since this is such a big event, the girl announces to her boyfriend that after dinner, she would like to go out and make love for the first time.
The boy is ecstatic, but he has never had sex before, so he takes a trip to the pharmacist to get some condoms. He tells the pharmacist it’s his first time and the pharmacist helps the boy for about an hour.
He tells the boy everything there is to know about condoms and sex. At the register, the pharmacist asks the boy how many condoms he’d like to buy, a 3-pack, 10-pack, or family pack. The boy insists on the family pack because he thinks he will be rather busy, it being his first time and all.
That night, the boy shows up at the girl’s parents’ house and meets his girlfriend at the door. “Oh, I’m so excited for you to meet my parents, come on in!” The boy goes inside and is taken to the dinner table where the girl’s parents are seated.
The boy quickly offers to say grace and bows his head. A minute passes, and the boy is still deep in prayer, with his head down.
10 minutes pass, and still no movement from the boy.
Finally, after 20 minutes with his head down, the girlfriend leans over and whispers to the boyfriend, “I had no idea you were this religious.”
The boy turns, and whispers back, “I had no idea your father was a pharmacist.”
City or country, a man’s gonna be a man. Many thanks to Tamara (Ryjkoff) Sturges for sending us this heartwarming tale:
A redneck family from the hills was visiting the city and they were in a mall for the first time in their lives. The father and son were strolling around while the wife shopped. They were amazed by almost everything they saw, but especially by two shiny, silver walls that could move apart and then slide back together again.
The boy asked, “Paw, what’s at?” The father (never having seen an elevator) responded, “Son, I dunno. I ain’t never seen nuthin like that in my entire life. I ain’t got no idee’r what it is.”
While the boy and his father were watching with amazement, a fat old lady in a wheel chair rolled up to the moving walls and pressed a button. The walls opened and the lady rolled between them into a small room. The walls closed and the boy and his father watched the small circular number above the walls light up sequentially. They continued to watch until it reached the last number and then the numbers began to light in the reverse order.
Then the walls opened up again and a gorgeous, voluptuous 24 year-old blonde woman stepped out.
The father, not taking his eyes off the young woman, said quietly to his son, “Boy….. go gitcha Momma.”
These come from a long list sent to us by Ginny (Beard) Gray. Thanks, GeeGee. You rock.
A pastor asked a little boy if he said his prayers every night. “Yes, sir.” the boy replied.
“And, do you always say them in the morning, too?” the pastor asked.
“No sir,” the boy replied. “I ain’t scared in the daytime.”
– – – – –
During the minister’s prayer one Sunday, there was a loud whistle from one of the back pews. Tommy’s mother was horrified. She pinched him into silence and, after church, asked, “Tommy, whatever made you do such a thing?” Tommy answered soberly, “I asked God to teach me to whistle, and He did!”
Stay in touch! Send funnies—or ELSE.