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Discount DVD Review: Johnny Yuma as ‘The Rebel’

Western TV shows from the 1950s and 1960s were about as abundant as ticks on a deer.  And so, for a TV western to succeed and separate itself from the rest of the herd (best analogy ever) that show needed to have a ‘hook’…needed some specific element that no other TV western had.

These hooks were often subtle, sometimes corny but they served their purpose.  Examples:

• Rapid firing rifle guy and good Dad—The Rifleman • Sophisticated San Francisco fashionista and stone killer who dressed all in black when at work—Have Gun Will Travel • Funny—Maverick • James Bond-like—Wild Wild West • Fast draw chick—Annie Oakley

But you see, Johnny Yuma was a rebel; he roamed through the west.  Yes, Johnny Yuma was a rebel; he wandered alone.

‘The Rebel’ starred the great and diminutive actor Nick Adams as Johnny Yuma, the rebel.  ‘The Rebel’ actually had more than a few hooks:

• Nick Adams was about 5’4” with a rodent-like face and strong New York accent and pound-for-pound threw an effective punch. • He carried a sawed-off scattergun. • He was an ex-Confederate soldier who always wore his cool Reb cap as he roamed through the west, curiously speaking in a broad New York accent. • Whenever Johnny Yuma wasn’t actively righting wrongs or killing bad guys, he was writing in his journal which almost always gave the bad guys something to yuck it up about and then throw the pages of the journal is his face.

But for me the really outstanding hook in The Rebel was the prevalence of Method actors and Method acting.  Method actors you see, attempt to draw upon real life experiences and sincere emotions and are often brooding and in quiet turmoil and appear constipated.  It’s often said the Method style promotes acting ‘…from the inside out rather than the outside in.’  

I can spot the Method style of acting when I see it and except for one guy, it’s all horseshit.  That one guy was Marlin Brando.  Acting is just dressing up and playing pretend.

But ol’ Nick Adams, he Method acted and brooded his ass off as Johnny Yuma.  Not surprising, as in real life we was a close chum with James Dean, the King of Constipated Brooding.  He was also a close chum with Elvis, who couldn’t act his way out of a brown paper bag filled with take-out fried chicken and onion rings.

Most of the other actors in The Rebel struck me as New York stage actors rather than actors from the usual stable (second best analogy ever) of TV western actors.

Great writing, atypical story lines and a theme song sung by young and powerful Johnny Cash; so I suggest you give it look.  But if Confederate flags offend you, along with Confederate music and symbolism (FYI: you’re an idiot), don’t watch.

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In Memorium: 3 Stephen Hawking Jokes with No Punchline

From July 2015

Mega-geniuses Stephen J. Hawking and Elon Musk decided to go fishing at a little spot they knew just outside of Santa Ynez, California.  

The lads packed up Elon’s shiny new Tesla with all their fishing gear, including Stephen’s special mind-controlled fishing pole.  

‘I…WEEL…MAKE…YOU…A…WA-GER,’ said Stephen to Elon during the drive. ‘Sure, what is it?’ Musk replied.

‘A…CON-TEST…TO…SEE…WHO…CATCH-ES…THE…BEEG-EST…FEESH.  THE…LO-SER…HAS…TO…BUY…DEEN-ER…AND…DRINKS…FOR…THE…WEE-NER.’

‘You’re on, pal!’

Later as dusk approached, the two big-brains had each caught four fish. Elon’s biggest catch was a 1.3-pound bluegill; Stephen’s was a 1.2-pound small-mouthed bass.

‘Looks like I’m getting a free dinner tonight!’ gloated Elon to his amigo.

‘NOT…SO…FAST,’ said Hawking.  ‘I…MAY…HAVE…ANOTHER…BITE!’ And with that, he started reeling in a huge channel catfish.  But just as the fish was getting near the boat, Stephen’s mind-controlled fishing pole went totally dead.

‘WHAT…THE…FUCK!!!’

‘Oops, guess I accidentally pulled out that USB cable that goes from the frontal lobe of your cerebrum to the tiny computer in the fishing pole.  Hmm, think I’ll have a big steak with all the trimmings for dinner,’  he laughed…and after a few seconds, so did Stephen.

From Oct. 2016

Seventh-level Grand Masters of the Illuminati, Pope Francis and Stephen J. Hawking were having a friendly chat over mugs of $1800 champagne.

‘Hey Hawky, do you believe in Karma?’ asked Pope Francis, eschewing his traditional fake Italian accent.

‘OF-COURSE-NOT,’ replied the nearly computerized mega-brain.

‘But why not!’ replied the Pontiff.  ‘The concept of Karma is so simple.  You reap what you sow.  You do good stuff—you get good stuff.  How can a super-genius like you not accept such a simple true-ism as Karma, you stunted little phony-ass, under-bite pervert?’

‘BE-CAUSE THE CON-CEPT OF KA-RMA IS TOE-TAL HORSE-SHIT.  IT IS NOT SCI-EN-TI-FIC.’

‘Hey, is this the OFF switch to your speech program?’

‘DO NOT TOUCH THAT BUT-TON!  I WILL FUCK YOU UP IF YOU….’

‘I guess your Karma sucks dude,’ chuckled the Pope as he flipped the switch.

From Dec. 2016

‘MER-RY CHRIST-MAS, E-LON,’ said super-brain Stephen Hawking to his best pal, billionaire genius inventor Elon Musk.

‘Merry Christmas, Stephen!  Should we have our gift exchange now?’

‘SURE.  HERE IS YOUR GIFT, E-LON,’ said Stephen presenting Elon Musk with an envelope.  ‘GO A-HEAD AND OP-EN IT!’

Anxiously, Elon Musk tore open the envelope and took out a Christmas card.

‘READ IT,’ suggested the brainiac.

‘OK…’ said Elon.  ‘Christmas time is here at last—It’s time to have a ball—So let’s go have some cookies—Down at the shopping mall.  Very nice Stephen, thank you.’

‘AND THERE IS MORE.  LOOK IN THE BACK OF THE CARD.’

‘There’s more?’  

Elon turned the Christmas card over and on the back was a $50 gift card to the Red Lobster restaurant.  

‘Thanks, buddy!  And here’s your gift!’

Elon pushed a button on a remote control device and out sashayed a very sexy robot girl.  She went right up to Stephen Hawking started doing an extremely provocative lap dance.

‘OH BA-BY!’ uttered Stephen.  ‘THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU, ELON.  BUT NOW I FEEL BAD FOR ONLY GET-TING YOU A FIF-TY DOL-LAR GIFT CARD.’

‘Don’t be silly; I love the Red Lobster and besides I can get real girls to give me a lap dance.’

They both laughed.

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Joke Time!

‘GODDAMN IT!’ screeched actress Meryl Streep after losing another Academy Award; for about the 17th time.

When Ms. Streep got home that night she conference-called several of the best and most successful movie writers in the world.

‘Listen you mugs; write me a part in a goddam movie where I’m guaranteed to win another Academy Award.  I’m sick to death of losing!’

‘What do you want the movie to be about?’ queried one of the writers.

‘Oh, you know.  Include all the stuff in my character that always wins Academy Awards.  Make sure my character is moderately retarded, has a drug problem, is gay or transsexual, speaks with an English accent and overcomes incredible odds to do some shit or other.  Now get to work…chop-chop.’

And so the writers wrote a perfect part for Meryl Streep.  The movie was called, ‘How Cold Were My Nuts’ and Meryl played a moderately retarded, drug-addicted, transsexual British nun who, against all odds, harvested an entire orchard of walnuts all by herself just before a snowstorm.

Once again Meryl Streep was nominated for an Academy Award but once again she lost; this time to that cute girl who played Wonder Woman in ‘Wonder Woman vs. The Bad Magic Pixies’.  

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Joke Time!

Marginally disgraced U.S. Senator Al Franken woke up one morning realizing he had oh so much free time and oh so little to do.

‘I know,’ thought Franken.  ‘I need a hobby.  I could build model trains!’

As with most great men, he immersed himself 100% into his hobby. Franken researched trains, model trains, and how to go about creating his own miniature world down in the private basement of his house.

Finally settling upon recreating The Ghan railroad line of the Great Southern Rail company, which runs north and south through the middle of Australia, Al Franken went to work with glee and gusto.  He hand-painted the little railroad cars—he built little outback railroad stations—he fabricated thousands of little eucalyptus trees and other outback plants.  He even hand carved dozens of little kangaroos, wallabies and goanna lizards for his miniature world.

At long last, wishing to share and show off his creation, Franken first called up his pals in Hollywood.

‘Hey, want to come over and see my new model railroad?’

‘NO WAY!’ replied his so-called Hollywood chums.  ‘That’s nerd stuff!  We’re way too cool for that.’

Next, he called up his friends and former colleagues in Washington D.C.

‘NO WAY!’ the Beltway crowd responded.  ‘If we get caught hanging around with you people will think we like to be mean to girls too.’

Finally, out of desperation, he called up the N.M.R.A. (National Model Railroad Association).

‘OH MY YES!!!’ replied the N.M.R.A.  ‘We would love to see your model railroad.  And we’ll bring snacks.’

And so for about the next year Al Franken and his new N.M.R.A. pals had the best time.  But then he got bored by model trains and shortly thereafter got hooked on opioids.

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Joke Time!

Pope Francis invited six of his best pals from the College of Cardinals over to his lavish digs in the Vatican for a game of Texas Hold ‘em poker and some snacks.  He liked to call these events ‘Cards with the Cards’.

‘What are we having for snacks?’ queried the always hungry Cardinal Isidro dela Nunzio.

‘Im’a gonna make-a some-a deliciosa bacon-wrapped jalapeno poppers and’a we can’a dunk’a them in ketchup,’ replied Pope Francis in his fake but mandatory Italian accent.

‘But I like to dunk my jalapeno poppers in Ranch dressing,’ whined Cardinal Roderigo Antifescu.

‘Ats’a no good’a.’ replied the Pope.  ‘Ketchup is’a better. Eff’a you drip ketchup on’a you clothes, it’s not’a gonna show!’

All the Cardinals laughed and agreed that once again, the Holy Father’s wisdom was infallible.

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Three Old-Time Character Actors Who Always Make Me Laugh

Grady Sutton: Doughy, wide-eyed innocent, usually open-mouthed.  One of W.C Fields’ favorite side-kicks.  His character, weak-kneed bank clerk Og Oggilby in the Fields’ classic ‘The Bank Dick’, is Academy Award-worthy.

Mantan Morland: A great actor who had the misfortune to be born black in 1940s Hollywood.  He played Charlie Chan’s chauffeur in several movies and ALWAYS emerged as the star.

James Finlayson: So, why does Homer Simpson say ‘DOH’?  He says ‘DOH’ because the great James Finlayson said ‘DOH’ in several Laurel and Hardy movies.  His best effort is as slimy saloon owner Michael Finn in the classic ‘Way Out West’.

Who always makes you laugh?

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What, If Anything, Is A Gringo? (re-post)

Gringo.

My question is this; is calling someone a ‘Gringo’ an insult, a racial slur?  Is using the term Gringo similar to calling someone the ‘N’ word?

My answer: No; and here’s why.  

The reason the ‘N’ word is such a powerful term (I dare not even use the actual word in this essay; in fact I’m almost compelled to say ‘the 14th letter’ word) is because we’ve all made that word so powerful by banning its use.  Just saying the ‘N’ word (the actual word…not ‘the ‘N’ word’; but someday soon I suspect just saying ‘the ‘N’ word’ will get you into a world of trouble) is one of the highest of our societal crimes.  Saying that word can get you fired from your job, get you ostracized from society, and possibly even physically threatened.

The ‘N’ word has a long and ugly history and today only idiots and morons use the actual term.  Of course it you are African American it’s an acceptable and often genial word.  And I get that. 

But…by banning the use of that word, we turn it into a SUPER-WORD!    That word has gone from being Dr. Bruce Bannon into being the Incredible Hulk.  

In the Joke Time! section of Tanagery.com I have a joke with no punchline about a middle school with a ‘zero tolerance policy’ on such words:

http://tanagery.com/post/77596955366/joke-time

The word ‘Gringo’ too has a fairly long and ugly history.  There are several theories on where the word comes from.  But I assure you; the Spanish who originally used the word Gringo were not using it in a complementary, whimsical or amiable fashion.  

Down here in San Vito, Costa Rica the word Gringo is thrown around fairly commonly.  Most of us Gringos refer to ourselves and other Gringos as Gringos.  It would seem totally ludicrous even laughable to say ‘the ‘G’ word’.  We seem to have taken the word back and removed any pejorative powers it may once have carried.  Gringo is not a super-word, I assure you.  

You often hear of ‘precio Tico’ and ‘precio Gringo’ down here.  That means something that has a lower price for Costa Ricans and a higher American price. Most of us Gringos down here do have more disposable income than most of the Ticos, so I get it…I get it.  And besides, when I want to buy something that has a ‘precio Gringo’ attached to it I just ask one of my Tico friends to go buy it for me.

What is a Gringo anyway?  Who are Gringos?  Are Gringos only paled-skinned folks from the U.S?  Are Canadians Gringos?  Are Europeans Gringos?  Are black Americans Gringos?  Most everyone has a slightly different opinion of who and what a Gringo is.

Here’s my definition of a Gringo:

A Gringo is anyone who comes down to a Spanish speaking country but barely speaks any Spanish and doesn’t make much of an effort to learn any. Comprende?  But that’s not really such a bad thing.

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Discount DVD Reviews #30: Route 66

Back in the early 1960s TV was more than just an entertainment device; much more.  For most folks TV was their only window into far off places and exotic locales.  Folks living on dusty rural farms in Oklahoma or smoky steel-mill towns in Pennsylvania could heat up a TV dinner, turn on the magic box and be transported to exotic locales like a steaming African jungle, the ancient ruins of Pompeii, Ava Gardener’s cleavage or Walt Disney’s new magic kingdom Disneyland.  Travel shows (called Travelogues) were an extremely popular TV genre.  My love of nature came from watching those wild animal shows on TV in the late 50s and early 60s.

The early 1960s also ushered in the era of TV cool.  Hipsters and beatniks (proto-hippies) and cool jazz were surprisingly common on TV. (Though certainly not as common as the two single beds, no promiscuity, not many minorities and no homo world of the straight-laced nuclear family shows.)  

I refer to such ‘cool’ TV shows as:

• Peter Gunn—pretty much a lame detective show used as a platform to present the coolest jazz of the era. • M Squad—similar but with cool Lee Marvin and the Count Basie orchestra. • Twilight Zone—we often forget the episodes that took place in the cool corners of the Zone. • Dobie Gillis—a silly sit-com but brought us much of our hipster language…like, you dig?

But for my money the coolest of the cool 1960s TV shows was Route 66.  Route 66 combined those two genres; travel to exotic locales and hipster cool.

The great Nelson Riddle composed one of the best themes ever, for Route 66.   This one-hour drama featured two very cool dudes; Martin Milner as Tod Styles and George Maharis as Buz Murdoch (two guys who could have both added an extra consonant to their first names…but didn’t).

Of course, the real star of the show was every boy’s cool dream car—a convertible Corvette.

The Route 66 premise was quite simple; Milner and Maharis just drove around the country in their Corvette, always with the top down (but curiously, rarely on the actual Route 66).  When they’d get low on spending cash, they would stop in whatever town they were in and get temporary jobs.  Usually the jobs were cool action jobs, like fishing or building a dam; but not always.  But old Milner (Tod) was actually one of, if not THE first computer nerds on TV.  He had a degree in Computing Electronics, which he often put to good use in the newly hatching computer industry.  While in whatever-town, the lads almost always would meet cute girls.   Buz (Maharis) almost always had a fistfight with a bad guy, which he almost always would win.  See, he grew up an orphan in Hell’s Kitchen, New York.

Here’s the kicker…here’s what made Route 66 unique in the history of TV; each week the one-hour show was filmed in the ACTUAL location in the story.  You’d get to sit on your couch and see Blythe, California in 1960…Squaw Valley, California in 1960…Butte, Montana in 1960.  When Tod and Buz went to a diner for lunch it was in an actual diner in whatever little town but of course the waitress would be Ann Margaret or Tina Louise.  I think all of the non-speaking extras were actual citizens of the little towns.  The rest of show’s actors fell into two amazing categories:

1. Old actors on their way out.   a. Lew Ayers b. Joan Crawford c. Peter Lorre

2. Young actors on their way up. a. Gene Hackman b. Cloris Leachman c. Rod Steiger d. James Caan e. Robert Redford f. William Shatner g. Barbara Eden h. Robert Duval i. And too many more to mention

The great Rin Tin Tin even stars in one episode and totally kicks some ass.

The two main characters, Martin Milner (as Tod) and George Maharis (as Buz), were decent, honest, intelligent and caring guys; the kind of guys we need more of these days, especially on TV shows.  Milner was the guy most 1960s Moms wanted their daughter to marry; Maharis was the guy most 1960s Moms wanted to sneak out and have robust, prolonged and enthusiastic sex with.

The writing on Route 66 was as poetic and intelligent as any writing you may encounter in today’s great TV shows; like Deadwood, Breaking Bad or The Wire.  The storylines tackled all sorts of issues no other shows were even approaching in the early 1960s.

But that car…ahh, that car.

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Joke Time!

‘OK, quiz me again,’ said US President Donald Trump to his trusted assistant.  ‘I really need to have the names of all the G-20 leaders down cold before I get to the conference.’

‘Yes sir, ready sir?  Turkey…’

‘Abdullah Bulbul Amir*.’

‘Correct!  England…’

‘Rogers Hornsby.’

‘Correct again!  Here’s a tough one; Argentina…’

‘Hmm, Lionel Messi.’

‘Correct sir!  Amazing.’

And so, President Trump’s assistant made certain that he learned all of the WRONG names of the G-20 leaders because she was secretly being paid by Vladimir Putin to make Mr. Trump look real stupid.

*My third most favorite poem of all time (by Percy French).

Oh, the sons of the Prophet are hardy and grim And quite unaccustomed to fear But none were so reckless of life or of limb As Abdulla Bulbul Ameer. When they wanted a man to encourage the van Or to harass the foe in the rear Or to take a redoubt they would always send out For Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.

There are heroes in plenty, and well known to fame In the ranks that were lead by the Czar, But the bravest of all was a man by the name Of Ivan Potschjinksi Skidar.[A] He could imitate Toole, play Euchre and Pool And perform on the Spanish guitar. In fact quite the cream of the Muscovite team Was Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.

One morning the Russian had shouldered his gun And assumed his most truculent sneer And was walking down town when he happened to run Into Abdulla Bulbul Ameer. "Young man," says Bulbul, "can your life be so dull That you're anxious to end your career?— For, infidel, know—you have trod on the toe Of Abdulla Bulbul Ameer.”

“Take your ultimate look upon sunshine and brook, Make your latest remarks on the war; Which I mean to imply you're going to die, Mr. Count Cask-o-whisky Cigar." Said the Russian, "My friend, my remarks in the end Would avail you but little, I fear, For you'll never survive to repeat them alive, Mr. Abdulla Bulbul Ameer."

Then the bold Mameluke drew his trusty chiboque And shouted "Il Allah Akbar" And being intent upon slaughter, he went For Ivan Potschjinski Skidar. But just as his knife had abstracted his life (In fact he was shouting "Huzza!") He felt himself struck by that subtle Calmuck, Count Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.

The Consul drove up in his red-crested fly To give the survivor a cheer, He arrived just in time to exchange a goodbye With Abdulla Bulbul Ameer. And Skobeleff, Gourko and Gorsechekoff too Drove up on the Emperor's car But all they could do was cry "och-whilliloo!" With Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.

There's a grave where the waves of the Blue Danube roll, And on it in characters clear Is: "Stranger, remember to pray for the soul Of Abdulla Bulbul Ameer." A Muscovite maiden her vigil doth keep By the light of the true lover's star And the name that she murmurs so sadly in sleep Is Ivan Potschjinski Skidar.

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Joke Time

Joey Heatherton, Lola Falana and Jill St. John met for lunch at Arby’s in downtown Santa Monica.

‘Did either of you ever get raped by Bill Cosby?’ asked Jill.

‘No.’ said Lola.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Joey.  ‘Of course, from what I read in the papers he drugged up the girls he raped so they wouldn’t remember anything.’

‘That’s right!’ said Jill.  ‘So really, if none of us remembers getting raped by Bill Cosby…that’s a pretty good clue that we DID get raped by Bill Cosby.’

‘Yeah!’ said Lola.  ‘You know I used to play in his charity golf tournament at Pebble Beach.  I have absolutely no memory of getting raped by him then.’

‘No, you’re thinking of Bing Crosby!’ corrected Joey.  

‘Well...Bing Crosby may or may not have raped me as well because, as I said, I have no memory of it.’ exclaimed Lola.

‘Who wants another roast beef sandwich?’ asked Jill.

‘I DO…I DO…I DO!!!’ replied both Joey and Lola.

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Joke Time!

Two Western Diamondback rattlesnakes were chatting as they thermo-regulated their reptilian bodies on a flat rock.

‘I think I have dyslexia,’ said the first rattler.

‘Dyslexia?  What is that?’ replied the second.

‘It’s a neurological condition where words or symbols are viewed in reverse order. Yesterday I bit a San Joaquin Rice rat on the ass instead of the head.’

‘What happened to the Rice rat?’

‘Oh, it died a rapid death…and I ate it.  It was quite delicious.’

‘Soooo, I guess having dyslexia and being a rattlesnake isn’t really a problem.’

‘Hmm, I guess not.’  

Ergo, do not sweat the small stuff my friends but always keep your eyes open for rattlesnakes.

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Circus Tales #2: The Violin Virtuoso

During my tenure with the Big John Strong Circus I did a variety of circus jobs that no one else wanted to do; which was perfectly fine with me and, being a newbie, was certainly fair.  But my most favorite Big John Strong circus job of all was selling Big John Strong coloring books during the half-way point of the show.

For a small circus to make any money the business model requires using every possible opportunity to sell stuff to the rubes.  One of those selling opportunities came during a brief pause at about the mid-point of the show. Ringmaster Big John Strong (and he was a big dude…about 6’5” with another 12 inches of gold top hat) would get on the microphone and, using all his impressive circus selling skills, whip all the children into an absolute foaming frenzy to buy one of these crappy little tent cent coloring books.  Big John was good—when he completed his spiel, every kid under the tent not only wanted a $2 Big John Strong Coloring book but HAD to have one..or die.  And as a bonus, if the coloring book the kid bought had a circus tent stamp inside on the first page, the incredibly lucky kid got a FREE BALLOON!

So this was my gig…in my Bouncer the Clown outfit I went around the bleachers and sold the coloring books to the glassy-eyed hypnotized children and their obedient parents.  When a kid squealed, ‘I GOT A CIRCUS TENT STAMP!!!’…I made a really big deal of it and gave that kid a fabulous ‘free’ balloon.  This always drove the rest of the kids even more nuts and brought down those few remaining kids still in the back of the bleachers:

‘Daddy, I gotta have a coloring book.  And look, they’re giving away free balloons too!’ said Cletus. ‘Honey, we just don’t have the money for…’ said the Ma. ‘Here,  Cletus…here’s the two dollars I was saving to buy Grandma’s insulin.’ said the Pa.

So here’s how the ‘free’ balloon deal worked; during the last act before the coloring book bit I took mess of coloring books and the circus tent stamp and the ink pad under the big top and prepared the coloring books…in this specific manner; the 3rd, 5th, 7th and 13th coloring books all got the free balloon stamp. I had to be rather stealthy in doing this because that last act before coloring book time was our highly popular comical chimp act.  The chimp performed all sorts of antics which included playing a little wooden violin to ‘Turkey in the Straw’.

***Circus Fact: Chimps hate clowns.  No one is totally sure why chimps hate clowns but there are two theories: 1. Clowns and chimps are competitors; both are funny looking and act funny.  Therefore, clowns have for many, many years considered chimps as rivals and have treated them badly. 2. Clowns, with their brightly colored faces resemble baboons—a natural enemy of chimpanzees. I tend to subscribe to a combination of these two theories.  But I can attest to the fact that this particular chimp absolutely hated my guts and wanted to kill me at any opportunity.*** 

So while our chimp was doing his act, I was preparing my coloring books just outside the ring usually hidden behind some of the elephant props.

On this particular evening I was doing my coloring book prep thing and the performing chimp was doing his comedy thing—I happened to peek out to see how it was going just as the chimp was looking in my direction.  We made brief...very brief...eye contact.  The chimp stopped playing his wooden violin. He opened his eyes so much they became double their usual size.  He bared all of his fearsome and formidable teeth.  He screamed like a teenage girl in a horror movie. The slobbering simian then lunged at me and if it not for the heavy leather leash and collar his handler held on to, he would have made Bouncer the Clown hash that night.  Fortunately his trainer held tight to the leash.  As a last resort, the chimp took his wooden violin and threw it, like a youthful Sandy Koufax, right at my head.  I was quite agile in those days and ducked just in time.

The chimp and his trainer exited the center ring to great applause.  Not surprisingly, I broke all records in selling coloring book that night.

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Joke Time!

‘Hey everybody,’ shouted majority leader Mitch McConnell to all of his Senate colleagues.  ‘There’s cake in the break room!’

All 100 of the US Senators scurried like wildebeests into the break room to get their mitts on that cake.

‘Hey,’ whispered a young first year Senatorial aide to her pal.  ‘Why are most of the Senators putting the cake on top of their heads?’

‘Didn’t you know?’ replied the friend.  ‘Most of the Senators are so old and confused they think that the cake is a hat.’

Just then a buzzer sounded and all the Senators rushed out of the break room and back to the main floor of the Senate where they all had to vote on a major [foreign policy or healthcare or environmental or military or economic] bill.

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Joke Time!

‘With the 14th pick in the 2017 NFL draft the Miami Dolphins select…Qwan’Travius Billings from the Northeast Boise Culinary Academy,’ said NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell.

‘Are you sure about this pick…I mean REALLY sure?’ queried the Dolphins owner to their new Director of Player Personnel, physics genius Stephen J. Hawking.

‘QUITE SURE, HEH-HEH-HEH,’ droned the Mega-Brainiac.

‘OK, OK.  What about our next pick?  Who do you recommend?’

‘PICK FELIPE MELMAC FROM DARTMOUTH COLLEGE.’

‘Felipe…whaa?  He doesn’t even play football.  He’s a 135 pound swimmer, specializing in the butterfly.’

‘HEY, YOU WANT ME TO MAKE THE PICKS OR NOT?’ growled the diminutive quasi-robotic thinker.

‘Alright, alright!  You’re the big brain.’

And so, Stephen J. Hawking continued making his bizarre and curious picks throughout 2017 NFL draft and the Miami fans booed every one of them.  But those boos were soon turned into cheers as the Dolphins went 16-0 in the regular season and won the Super Bowl 48-3 over the Green Bay Packers.

(See, Stephen J. Hawking made his draft picks based solely on the players’ genomic compatibility with a race of cloned powerful super-humans he had created in his basement, a place he called the Hawk’s Nest.)

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Joke Time!

‘Gorsuch!’ shouted Supreme Court Justice Ginsburg.

‘Yes ma’am,’ replied the newest Judge.

‘Go get me my cigarettes…and a Coke!  CHOP-CHOP.’

‘Yes ma’am.’

Upon his return with the cigarettes and the Coke, Judge Gorsuch heard Justice Kagen shout; ‘Did you finish detailing my car yet?’

‘Sir…yes sir.’

‘Gorsuch, is our lunch ready yet?’ asked Chief Justice Roberts.

‘The Spaghettios are warming up now sir; it should be just a few more minutes.’

‘Hey Gor-Suck!’ laughed Justice Thomas.  ‘Our private Supreme Court bathroom is a mess.  Go clean it up.  And don’t forget to scrape the gum off the floor’

By the end of his first day on the job, Supreme Court Justice Neil Gorsuch was one tired little man.  But he knew that over time…and after the rest of the Justices got to know him better and discovered what a good chap he was…they would cut back on the hazing the new guy routine.

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Who Would Win?  #32 (the final and bestest edition ever)

Now entering the boxing ring, three of history’s greatest and most fearsome fictional warriors--’Snake’ Plissken, Abraham Lincoln and Margaret Sanger. Fictional warriors, please pick up your claw hammers and aluminum trash can lids!’

WHO WOULD WIN?

************’Snake’ Plissken*************

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Joke Time!

‘Hey, I just read that President Trump and Senator Bernie Sanders are in cahoots on repealing the Affordable Care Act,’ said Sarah chatting with her boyfriend Trevor over a chai latte at a trendy beachside bistro.  ‘They are only pretending to disagree and argue about it.  Actually, they are in cahoots.’

‘In cahoots?’ replied Trevor.  ‘Trump and Sanders in cahoots?  It’s hard to believe that those two guys would ever be in cahoots over anything, let alone being in cahoots over something like Obamacare.’

‘Hey, it’s Washington D.C man.  Those politicians are in cahoots over everything.  You name it and they’re in cahoots over it; in one way or another.’

‘Did you ever notice how, if you use a word often enough it starts to look and sound really strange?’

‘Like “in cahoots”.’

Just then the third largest tsunami in recorded history struck their beachside community and swept everything away and out to sea so we can pretend like their conversation never happened and get back to work.