Thanks to All My Readers

Dear Readers,

I would like to take the opportunity to thank each and every one of you who found my site and have laughed with me on a variety of subjects.

What amazes me is that my blog is one in several million, yet I continue to get higher and higher hit counts, leading me to believe that people are not only returning to read the latest satire I can churn out, but they are telling their friends. I honestly don’t know how you all are finding me, but I am happy that you are.

I would ask only one thing, if you have a moment, could you leave a comment on something you’ve read that has made you laugh. Let me know how you found the blog and any suggestions on how I might make it even better. This will give me an idea of who my readers are and why they are coming to my site. It is pretty straightforward. Just hit the comment button at the end of any article and fill out the comment form. You can also use any one of the social network buttons to share my satire on your social networking sites.

Again, I appreciate your visits and look forward to making you laugh on a daily basis.

Best Regards,

P. Beckert

Amazing New Product, Writer Fiber, Cures Writer’s Block

John Aholi, a writer from Hoboken, New Jersey, has had his fair share of days trying to squeeze out short stories to post on his semi-successful blog “The John.” But now, thanks to a new product called Writer Fiber, the words are flowing on The John with little to no effort at all.”

Aholi says there’s nothing crappier than sitting at a computer, straining for just the right words only to have nothing come out for hours on end. “I can’t stress to you how much it means to me to have a product like this. It has taken quite a load off,” he said.

Writer Fiber was developed by Aholi’s writer friend, Curtis Finkter, a full-time pharmacist who moonlights as a features writer for his local newspaper, The Daily Constitution. “I started getting backed up at work and realized it was affecting my writing in a major way,” said Curtis. “I was full of ideas but getting them out was another thing. That’s when I began working on a tablet that would get the juices flowing for writers like me,” he said.

While John jokes that he and his friend Curtis “have always been full of “it,” he can’t thank him enough for the cure for writer’s block. “Thanks to Writer Fiber, we’re finally able to get “it” out on a more regular basis.”

How to Tell if Your Neighbor Drinks Too Much

Originally Posted 6/29/09

I am sure we've all run across a neighbor or two in our lifetime that just could not say no to a drink. Every neighborhood has at least one “Otis” of Mayberry fame, who goes through life thinking everyone else is the one with the problem. If you think you might have a neighbor with a drinking problem, but you're just not that sure, here are a few signs you can look for in determining whether or not to keep your stash of favorite beer inside your house instead of in the garage refrigerator.

Signs that your neighbor may drink too much:

You’re starting to hear “hey, you got any beer?” in your sleep.

He just put in a new swimming pool, paid for entirely from proceeds of his recycled aluminum cans.

He thinks a boozehound is a breed of dog.

He filed a lawsuit against the local restaurant for discrimination for sending him a coupon for free food, that excluded alcoholic beverages.

The local beer distributor makes regular stops to his home.

One day his wife rearranged the furniture while he was out, and he thought they'd moved.

Every time you try to tell him about the 12-step program, he tells you he can’t even learn the two-step.

He borrows your rider mower, and you later see it parked at the local bar.

He quotes Homer Simpson.

The waste department sends out a special recycling truck every week just to handle his empties.

Every time someone tells him he needs to go to AA, he claims he’s not a member.

He drives a late model Schwinn.

When introducing himself, he says, “Hi, my name’s Scooter, but everyone calls me Bud.”

He’s the only guy at a picnic who can use his belly as a tray table.

He constantly brags about the money he saves “watering the bushes.”

He thinks getting ahead means pouring his beer into a glass very, very fast.

The local Mini-Mart has been re-named “Bud’s” in honor of his patronage.

And…You need a million proofs of purchase to get one Budweiser outdoor awning. He’s got 5.

So, if after reading this list you still aren’t sure if your neighbor is a tippler, sit outside on the front lawn some evening with your wife and a little cooler of beer and see how many seconds it takes for him to walk on up and ask “hey, ya got any more beer?”

California District Court Ruling Clears Way for Satire-fueled Lawsuits

In what was hailed as a landmark decision, the US District Court for the Central District of California, Los Angeles, decided in the case of Shatner vs. Buttick, that the use of satire is a form of assault that can cause immeasurable harm to an entertainer’s psyche, and as such, satirists can now be sued not only for libel but assault as well.

The original lawsuit was filed by William Shatner against Zefron Buttick in Los Angeles Superior Court way back in 2004 when Shatner suffered extreme embarrassment and loss of employment due to Buttick’s series of stories attacking Shatner for everything from being a homosexual to accusing him of stealing other people’s writings for his spoken word albums. All of it was done under the guise of satire.

Celebrities in Los Angeles and all over the country were said to be elated with the ruling. Said Ricky Martin, “this couldn’t have come at a better time for me. My only regret is that I should have waited to ward off the onslaught of negative press about my coming out instead of opting for going public and taking my knocks.”

Some celebrities, however, were upset to hear the news. Film star, Pauly Shore, is threatening to file his own lawsuit to have the Shatner suit overturned. Said Shore, “I’ve tried everything, including making a movie where I fake my own death, and nothing gets a rise out of anyone. With this recent ruling, I may as well just fake my own death again, cause this is sure to put the final nail in the coffin that houses my career.”

Meanwhile, satirists nationwide are scheduling meetings with their attorneys to figure out what they can do to side-step this ruling. Many are so used to making fun of things that they are satirizing the very Judges who ruled on the case, which might not be such a smart move in the grand scheme of things.

Hillary Clinton Throws Hissy Fit

Hillary Clinton wants the President to know in no uncertain terms that she’s just as important a part of his Administration as Joe Biden, and she’s not backing down this time. After breaking her elbow and missing out on a couple of high-profile trips abroad, Clinton is feeling the sting of being left behind in this administration.

So, exactly what has gotten Clinton so riled up? According to sources closest to Hill, as she’s affectionately known around the Oval Office, she’s tired of being left out of everything. So far, the President has gone on two burger runs in the past four weeks and hasn’t stopped by her office once to take her order. One of those times, he actually took Joe Biden with him and paid for his lunch, which ticked Clinton off to no end. “He and Joe walked right by my office, stuck their heads in the door, and yelled ‘goin’ to lunch, be back later,’ and just left.” She continued to rant, “I’m sure he knows how much I love burgers because it was one of the many gazillion questions he had us answer during his ridiculous vetting process before getting this asinine job.” She quickly retracted the last part of that statement and assured the American public that being Secretary of State does not really suck that bad.

But she did add, “If Obama wants me to be this country’s mascot, don’t just give me the costume and the title, give me the respect I deserve, and for God’s sake, would it hurt to throw in a burger every once in awhile?”

Madoff RFD

It was announced today that Bernard Madoff has finally found a prison home for the rest of his natural life, Mayberry RFD. As crazy as it sounds, Madoff’s attorney had put in a request that Madoff’s sentence be carried out at Otisville, NY, in order for him to be close to his family. Unfortunately, whoever received that request read it completely wrong and thought that Madoff was requesting to be imprisoned in the same cell where the infamous “Otis” of Mayberry RFD fame spent most of his weekends on “The Andy Griffith Show.” It is assumed that he was hoping that, true to form, Barney would leave the keys unattended and Madoff would be able to make his escape in no time.

Upon hearing the news, Barney Fife declared, “there ain’t no one ever escaped from this here jail cell, and I’ll be darned if this high falootin' city slicker is gonna be the first, ain’t that right Ange?” Andy agreed, "Youbetcha Barn.”

‘Bout that time, Opie came running in the jail yelling “Paw, Paw, is it true, is it true? Andy answered, “is it true, what Ope?” "Is it true this new pris’ner is a sinnin’ against the Lord?” “Why Ope,” said Andy, “what ever do you mean?” “Well, Paw, I heard that he’s been convicted of a white collar crime, and the only folks I know that’s got white collars are the preachers down at the Church.” “Aw, Ope, this here’s another kinda crime. Now you run along and fetch your Aint Bee for me will ya? We needs to have some supper brought up here right quick for our new pris’ner."

Aunt Bee hurried into the Sheriff’s office, wringing her hands and looking a might unsettled. “Why Aint Bee,” Andy was reported as saying, “you look like you’re just about to lose the blue ribbon for your sweet ‘n sour pickles to Clara down at the an-yule County Fair, I do declare.” “Oh Andy,” she said, flustered, “I just found out about your new prisoner and I’m just beside myself.” “Well, why, Aint Bee? He’s just like all th’ other pris’ners we’ve had in here, ain’t he?” “Ohhh no, Andy, he’s not, he’s just not at all like the other prisoners.” He’s Jewish.” “Well Aint Bee, I do declare, you ain’t never been against anyone in particular before,” Andy said, looking scornful at Aunt Bee. “Ohhh, no, Andy,” she replied. “I don’t care atall about his religion…I’m just concerned because I’m not sure about one thing. Andy, is fried chicken kosher?”

High society is really taking a beating in this economic crisis. The scores of trophy wives who have been left to fend for themselves by husbands caught in the unfortunate outing of greed and corruption on Wall Street are not taking their fall from status lying down—well, maybe they’ll take it lying down if the opportunity presents itself—anyway, there are many former well-to-do women out there who, because of the recent convictions of their high profile spouses, have begun to wonder, “will I ever shop at Gucci again?”

These kept women needn’t fear thanks to the efforts of a small group of their peers who, having had the sense to hide assets before their husbands were arrested, are going through their closets and picking out the stuff that is “so last year” and donating it to the poor darlings suffering from this disastrous year of corporate misunderstandings. This outpouring of kind generosity from women largely given to self-indulgence can only be deemed a miracle by most. Calling itself BABs--which doesn’t stand for anything, they just like the name—this small group of highly selfish turned less selfish women are a sliver of light in the fading dusk of the luxe world they come from. Originally begun as a joke, the wives of former executives charged with corporate fraud quickly realized that survival meant taking extreme measures. As much as they detest charitable giving, they quickly agreed that this type of organization would afford them a nifty tax haven.

Ruth Madoff, wife of Bernard Madoff, who made off with millions before Madoff was arrested, declared “I’d help, but I need every million I can get my hands on. Now be a darling, dear, and fetch me another cosmo, would you please?”

“One can only imagine the stress these poor unfortunate creatures are under by having to shop one block down from Rodeo Drive, or worse, having their hair and nails done in public,” said Lyns Palmer (not her real name), co-founder of BABs. “Their flawless complexions are taking a beating, and BABs has vowed to make available free botox injections to every one of these women who needs them," she added with feigned interest. Heartwarming, to say the least.

The above is strictly fictional and intended as satire, a mocking if you will.

Living With a Control Freak

Do you live with a control freak? I’m not talking about someone who tries to control your life, per se. I’m talking literally about someone obsessed with controls. Controls for the air conditioner, car and home, ceiling fan speed, ambient lighting switch, sprinkler system. Anything with more than one speed or setting, and a knob, and this person has to continuously fiddle with the knob to control the speed, or change the channel, or make sure the lighting is just right.

I suppose if you live with a person like that long enough, you should become immune to their fiddling and constant changing, but you don’t and here’s why. First of all, you’re either too hot or too cold, but never just right. That’s because the fiddler is constantly making the temperature go up and/or down in an attempt to create the most perfect indoor living environment, which doesn’t exist—for the fiddler. They will go outdoors in stifling heat in the summer and then come inside to the igloo and pronounce how hot it is outside and how nice it feels indoors. Meanwhile, you’ve been sitting there with a sweater on for the past two hours thinking how cold it must be outside for it to be so cold inside, and you’d be wrong. It is 100 plus degrees out there where the fiddler fiddles with the garden hose nozzle.

That’s right, the exact amount of water must come through that nozzle for any given job. Spray the plants, need a lighter spray. Spray the lawn, need a spray that will reach the length of two football fields. Need a drink of water, go inside the igloo because fiddler won’t turn loose of the hose. By the time you do get to use the hose, you turn it on to find it doesn’t work. Why? Because fiddler has installed a very complicated dual-hose, dual source spigot with two hoses attached, and little levers on top of each spigot to open and close the valves, and whenever you pick up the yellow hose and turn on the valve for that one, you realize you just closed it, so you close the other valve and it still doesn’t work and then you pick up the green hose, because you aren’t really particular what color hose you get your drinking water out of and then realize that you didn’t push the right lever and you throw down both hoses in disgust and walk away. Along comes fiddler and asks, did you want something? And picks up the yellow hose, turns on the spigot and the water comes gushing through. You deem this a miracle, walk back inside the igloo, take your drink straight from the tap, pick up the remote, sit down on the adjustable lounger, and turn on the television, only to find that it’s been switched to DVD.

Great Internet Content Writing

Reading websites has become my new hobby. I get more entertainment from them than any television show or movie I could be watching. There is a plethora of ill-written--to the point of comical--content, and sadly a paucity of well-written, attention-worthy content. But hey, maybe it’s just me. You be the judge. Here are a few tidbits I found while surfing websites offering limo services in the South Florida area. I’ll not mention any names, but hey, you know who you are.

1. When talking about a special wedding day, one company noted: “You obviously have a nose for the finer things.” I think they may have gotten their senses a little mixed up. Somehow “nose” and “finer things” in the same sentence don’t convince me that they have much “taste” when it comes to luxury.

2. One company seemingly doesn’t believe in lasting love. I am paraphrasing: “Once you let ‘us’ be the transportation for your…wedding limousine, you will want to get married…again!” Forget the fact that they can’t “be” transportation, more importantly, they want to be sure you use them not only for your first wedding but each subsequent one as well.

3. And I am guessing these guys either want the chance to get things right the second time or just have a few problems with the tenses of their verbs and the use of their pronouns. “Let us treat the bride and groom how you deserved to be treated and get you to the church on time.” Are they apologizing for the way you were previously treated and offering to make it up to you? In any event, offering to get you to the church on time instead of the bride and groom may just portend a repeat of the same poor service.

4. Now this company knows exactly what the bride and groom most expect of a limo driver when it comes to their big day: “our service providers are professional…and are trained to get you to your honeymoon suite as fast as humanly possible.” The heck with safety, the heck with courteous, just get us to that danged hotel room now!

5. Here’s another company that knows what the “big day” is really all about: “…we know what our role is…. Our trained drivers will conduct you in an unobtrusively way.” Just to clarify what I think they are trying to say is, their drivers won’t thrust themselves upon the happy couple on their most important day. How much more professional can you get than that?

6. This is just odd. I’m thinking this copy may have been written for some limo service that operates in some faraway place, maybe Jupiter, in the year 1920? “Then say SeLavue as you ride in style to catch your awaiting airplane or steamship…” SeLavue? C’est la vie, who cares if they can write well or not, they’re sending the happy gangster and his moll away on their honeymoon aboard that steamship in style.

7. This last one has so much that is just wrong, that I’m gonna take it apart in pieces and hopefully, no one will be able to put it back together again. “Florida limo services are as much a cottage industry in…Miami as is, say, cheese in Wisconsin.” Do you see how cleverly they tied the word cottage in with cheese in Wisconsin? Wait, there is so much more of this amazing descriptive style of writing. Try this on for size. “Clubland, as it is known, is not just a nocturnal theme park but a way of life for some.” If I’m reading this correctly, there is a theme park named Clubland, and I wanna know where I can get tickets because I can’t wait to visit Hip-Hop Land, and the Hall of Rappers.

But even this limo company has it’s limitations as noted in the following: “…no excuses are needed to throw a party here. Short of throwing a glammy event for the grand opening of a new gas station,…” What, you mean I’m gonna miss the grand opening of the new Speedway down on 181st Street cause I can’t get a limo ride?

How to Save Money in Today's Economy

A key step when starting one’s plan to save money is to prioritize. Figure out what is most important in your life--what you absolutely cannot live without--and then find ways to make sure you always have enough money in the budget for it. Here’s an example: Food. Man can stay alive on bread and water indefinitely. However, that’s a bit harsh. A better approach is to divide the three main meals, breakfast, lunch and dinner, into separate days of eating, and rotate. For example, beginning on the 1st Monday, Thursday, and Sunday, have a hearty breakfast and only breakfast. Tuesday and Friday have lunch and only lunch, and on Wednesday and Saturday, have dinner and only dinner. With this system, you can cut out 730 meals a year, at an average cost of around $5 per meal, which comes out to a savings of roughly $3,655.00! That is beer money for the whole year, with a little left over to play the weekly lottery!

Next. Most everyone has a neighbor who just can’t say no to a sale at Home Depot. He has the best weed eater, the best rider mower, the best power washer; just about anything that uses combustibles to start it up. Borrow them, all the time, and on the off chance that your neighbor will begin to look upon you as a mooch, tell him that you are doing him a favor. Engines run better when they are used constantly, it’s a proven fact. Tell him that. If he still balks, come up with some more lies, such as you are only borrowing his mower so that your lawn will look half as nice as his. This whopper might even get him to throw in a bag of lawn food and fertilizer spreader. Just make sure you always have a sincere look about you. One giggle and the jig is up.

If you want to make some money on the side, rent his equipment out to other neighbors. Sure, the other neighbors see you using the same equipment all the time, so they’re sure to think that you own it. When they come to borrow it, tell them times are a little tough, that you could use a little extra dough. Of course, you’re gonna have to do a little acting. Visuals are great. Never carry anything in the pockets of your shorts. When Joe from next door comes a knockin’ to borrow the mower, turn your pockets inside out, and make a half-hearted joke about where moths breed, and you have him eating out of your hand. Word of caution. Learn the schedule of the neighbor with all the heavenly guy toys that you’re borrowing from. Only lend out his equipment while he’s out playing 18 holes of golf or taking the kids to soccer practice. Never let him see someone else using his equipment and be darned thankful that rider mowers don’t have odometers!

Say it’s near the end of the month, you’re almost out of beer money and the lottery is up to $12 million dollars. You’ve been there before, scrounging around in the couch cushions for change, selling your blood, offering a kidney. Just when things start to look hopeless, you come up with a great idea! It involves a cockroach and the dollar menu at the local fast food restaurant. Just remember to look really, really disgusted.

I am NOT a Bad Mommy!

I Am NOT a Bad Mommy!

There I was, just starting to wake up on a Tuesday morning, about ready to hop out of bed and into the shower. I took a nice long stretch. It felt good to greet another beautiful morning. Birds were chirping, the sun was shining, this was going to be one fantastic day--I could feel it in my bones. And then…

“Mom…mommy…mommy?” Something about the way that last “mommy” came out seemed to take a little polish off my sunshiny morning. I brushed it off. Nah, nothing could ruin this beautiful day. And then…

“Mommy—I don’t feel so good.” Oh crap. Just what I need. A sick kid. Why now? Right at the point in the morning when I’m supposed to be having a lovely 7 a.m. wake-up call by the sweet little birdies outside my window, I get a rude awakening from a whiny 4 year old. And then…

I think I’m gonna puke. Awright, now he’s gone and done it. I couldn’t be more awake now than if I’d whacked myself over the head with a stick. Where’s the bleepin’ throw up basket? “I’m coming honey; hold on, JUST HOLD ON!” I go running down the hallway, blue basket with “sick bucket” written on the side in red magic marker. I leap into the bedroom of my precious bundle of joy only to find that he and his entire bedspread are covered in some really, really nasty goop. Oh, and are my senses wide awake now. It smells so bad. My face contorts into a shape I’m not sure even the rubber man could master, and I throw the bucket to the side, defeated. My shoulders slump, and before I can stop them, my hands find their way to my hips as my eyes focus upward and over the glasses on the bridge of my nose to gaze upon the puny little kid in the bed, as I say, “well, looks like you went ahead without me.” And then…

He starts to cry. Oh my, it’s downright pitiful. I feel sorry for the kid. He must feel so miserable. I want to go comfort him, but the stench forbids it. I keep my distance and say “honey” a lot, and “where does it hurt?” and all the things mommies say to their kids when they want them to think they are in capable hands. It all happened so fast, officer, one minute I’m minding my own business, having a glorious morning stretch, and the next minute I’m someone’s mommy and I’m needed in the sick ward. None of what I’m doing is helping. The kid just starts to cry harder and harder, as I put my fingers to my nose and take a few steps backwards. How awkward this all is. I know I should be doing something. And then…

“Mommy?” I snap back to the present. “Yes, honey, what is it?” I gotta go to the bathroom…now! Oh, I wanna go help him outta that mess. I really do, but my feet don’t seem to be working. I am all about compassion, I really am, but I just can’t seem to take that first step. “Can you make it to the bathroom?” I say a little too loudly. “Just run to the bathroom…Jimmy…hurry!” I cry out in panic. “Stop yelling at me, mommy.” And then…

The smell, omigosh, the horrid, putrid smell. I step back a bit more. I’m almost home free, if I can just make it to the hallway. “Hold on, honey, I know you’re sick. Mommy’s gonna help you. JUST HOLD ON!” And then…

“Jack? Jack, quick, c’mere quick, can you? Jimmy’s not feeling so good.