Tag Archives: Humor

Grammar allergies & Cormac McCarthy: funnies for the weekend

Cyanide & Happiness understands how I react:

And just in time for Saturday night: Pictionary, the Cormac McCarthy edition.

(Thanks to Kelly for the Cyanide & Happiness link.)

Schrödinger’s kitty: wanted, dead and alive

Given this blog’s history with Schrödinger’s Cat jokes, I think this is an appropriate Halloween picture.

(Via The Meta Picture.)

Do not kill my father. Do not pass Go. Prepare to die.

What I wish I could have for my birthday.

The Princess Bride monopoly board.

It’s an homage to the movie in graphic form, not, alas, an actual board game. But how much would I love to play this game with the family? An inconceivable amount.

(Yes, even with the misplaced apostrophe.)

Professor Conan T. Barbarian

Students in the English Department at Trinity College Dublin got a surprise when a new professor appeared on the department’s website: Dr. Conan T. Barbarian, “Long Room Hub Associate Professor in Hyborian Studies and Tyrant Slaying.”

Dr Conan T. Barbarian was ripped from his mother’s womb on the corpse-strewn battlefields of his war-torn homeland, Cimmeria, and has been preparing for academic life ever since. A firm believer in the dictum that “that which does not kill us makes us stronger,” he took time out to avenge the death of his parents following a sojourn pursuing his strong interest in Post-Colonial theory at the Sorbonne. In between, he spent several years tethered to the fearsome “Wheel of Pain”, time which he now feels helped provide him with the mental discipline and sado-masochistic proclivities necessary to sucessfully tackle contemporary critical theory. He completed his PhD, entitled “To Hear The Lamentation of Their Women: Constructions of Masculinity in Contemporary Zamoran Literature” at UCD and was appointed to the School of English in 2006, after sucessfully decapitating his predecessor during a bloody battle which will long be remembered in legend and song.

Trinity College has, sadly, removed the hacked page. But the cache, with Prof. Barbarian’s full C.V., can be seen at the link above.

As the daughter of an English professor, I can attest that academic battles fully deserve to be memorialized through epic poetry and ululation.

Watch out: That plot device is behind you

If you have ten minutes to spare, enjoy. Plot Device:

Welcome home, Endeavour

For those of you who missed the landing of the space shuttle Endeavour this morning:

Peeps Show V

It’s Eastertime. So here are the winning entry and 35 runners-up from the 2011 Washington Post Peeps Diorama Contest.

“TSA Agents Get a Peep Show” is good. But my favorite is “Inpeeption.”

“2030: All Books Will Be Crowdsourced and Cloud-Based.”

Some satire for the weekend.

First, The Onion discovers the true glamour of book tours:

Author Promoting Book Gives It Her All Whether It’s Just 3 People Or A Crowd Of 9 People.

“Sometimes 7:30 comes around and only three people are there, one of whom is my agent,” Massey said. “Well, rather than go through with the whole presentation I’d normally do for a group of six including my parents and a woman who appears to be mentally ill, I can make the reading into more of an intimate discussion where there’s a lot more back-and-forth.”

Reminds me of the booksigning in Westwood where I had to climb over barricades to reach the bookstore. The street had been blocked off because Get Smart was premiering next door. And yet half a dozen readers braved Hollywood security, found their way past the roadblocks, and managed to come hear me talk. And all of them were mentally on-the-ball. However, I’ve attended booksignings where the author was not so lucky.

And at McSweeney’s, James Warner foresees The Future of Books.

2040: Authors Will Become Like Tamagotchi.

Having determined that what readers want is a “sense of connection,” publishers will organize adopt-an-author promotions, repackaging writers along the lines of Webkinz and other imaginary pets. “Feeding” your favorite authors by buying their books will make their online avatars grow less pale and grouchy. If they starve to death on your watch you will lose social networking points. Book clubs will cultivate with their favorite writers the warm, fuzzy, organic bond a trainer develops with his or her Pokémon, a process that will culminate in staged fights-to-the-death between your author and the author sponsored by another book club.

The whole thing is priceless.

“Ghost Hunters has shocked statisticians and theologians alike”

“‘Ghost Hunters’ Enjoys Surprising 100% Success Rate.”

LOS ANGELES—Despite the fact that in all of human history not one person has ever provided definitive empirical evidence of the afterlife, the crew of the second-tier cable network television show Ghost Hunters has shocked statisticians and theologians alike with an incredible and uncanny 100 percent success rate in documenting proof of spiritual presences from beyond the grave. “Well, we have really good equipment,” said one cast member, a man in his 30s who sees one or more ghosts each week, without fail, every single time he sets out to do so. “What can I say? We’re just really good researchers, I guess.” At press time, despite having repeatedly resolved the most central question of human existence, the program is somehow not on the cover of every major newspaper, magazine, and scientific journal in the world.

Wow. That’s an even better success rate than “Psychic Kids.” I’m astonished.

Big news! New novel!

I have a thrilling announcement: My new Amish vampire novel, Blood Bonnet, goes on sale this morning.

Details to follow.

UPDATE: For those who didn’t see the little “April Fool’s” tag at the bottom of this post — I have not in fact written an Amish vampire romance. Or even a Mennonite vampire romance. But I bet somebody will. Fangs, high octane buggy chases, whips, pitchforks, midnight barn-raisings and bloodlettings… yeah, somebody will.

But my April Fool’s joke has spawned something even better in the comments: Fill-in-the-Plot Mad Libs. Susan writes:

Okay okay, I’m mega-excited. But the big question: Jo or Evan?

And can we have a summary, please? I’ll get you started:

After Santa Barbara is terrorized by a _____________,
__ Jo/__Evan goes undercover as a _______________ in a ________________ community. Little does she suspect that her lover ________ has been _______________ and faces ______________ at the hands of _________________.

Thank you, Susan. It’s brilliant. From now on, plotting will be a breeze.

And feel free to fill in the blanks yourselves.

My new bumper sticker… from Hell

Why I love readers of this blog, Part Umpteen: After reading posts about “Pole Dancing for Jesus” and riding out the apocalypse in a deluxe bunker, DJ Paterson has created the bumper sticker above, “For the bunker rocking chair.”

Why I Love Readers of This Blog, Part Umpteen Plus One: Comments! of the week!

From Pat The Hat: “Oh that Jesus Pole is so wonderfully wrong in all the right places! I am sooo going revivalin’ when the next tent comes through town…” (Rest of the comment here.)

From Eddie (after watching the Fox news “Pole Dancing for Jesus” video): “Well, *that* was fun. Now, I’m off to Pole Vaulting for Pol Pot.”

Better book titles

Spend some time this weekend snirking and grinning. Jason sends a link to Better Book Titles.

He notes: “Many of the titles are inspired: A Whale Goes Old Testament on Some Whale Hunters and How to Lose a Guy in One Day are among my favorites.”

Those are indeed great. But as a crime writer and film noir fan, I love the book retitled above. As a title, a pun, and a riff on romantic movies, it’s sublime. Okay, cheesy. Wonderfully cheesy. And sublime.

Unkillable Cow, the Musical

This deserves its own spot on the front page. In the comments on the previous post — “Unkillable” cow: not mad, just angry? — Ron sets the story to music:

♫ To kill the unkillable cow
To fight the unbeefable bo (vine)
To bear a big truck as a weapon
To plug it with lead as I go

This is my quest
To get to a bar
To tell of my triumph
To drink from a jar

To fight for the right
Whether hooves, claws, or paws
To be able to slaughter my pets
For a newsworthy cause

And I know if I’ll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my fame will go on and go on
When I’m laid to my rest

And the world will be sadder for this
That one man, with his wife at his side
Still strove with his last ounce of ammo
To kill (dramatic pause, or, for Patti, a fermata) the unbeefable cow ♫♪

Take a bow, maestro. And try getting that one out of your heads on a Friday, folks.

Rudolph: the real story

The Sting in the tale…