Humor
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One of my favorite pastimes is to daydream parodies. There’s no better fuel for a daydream than books. I’m currently working through Don Quixote and wondering what took me so long to read Cervantes. My goodness, it’s hilarious. I’ve been in tears, truly rolling on the floor, laughing so much that Chuck and the kids wonder if I’m having fun, or in need of medical attention.
The character, Don Quixote, is a parodied knight-errant based on the stories of chivalry which were popular in Cervantes day. I’m thinking it would be a hoot to write a parody of this parody, based on the popular show “Dog Whisperer,” where an aging gentleman who spends his days watching episode after episode of “Dog Whisperer” convinces himself that he, too, possesses the gift of restoring displaced canine energy. He renames himself to – something catchy…maybe Dag Kahuna – and embarks on an adventure across America seeking neurotic dogs and their hapless owners in order to inculcate submission into the dogs and impel their owners to become the pack-leaders they were born to be. Unfortunately, lacking training and any God-given propensity for influencing animals, our character sojourns from town to town wreaking havoc, risking his life and the limbs of anybody unfortunate enough to be in proximity of the teeth of every breed from Abbruzenhund to Zuchon.
I don’t know, sounds funny to me.
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Yesterday, I visited the eye doctor for a follow-up exam on a new contact lens prescription. I thought I could see okay, but identifying numbers and letters in a dark room with one eye covered proved otherwise.
I’ve always had poor eyesight and have either worn glasses or contact lenses. Not only am I far-sighted, but I’ve got astigmatism and my right eye is correctable only to 20/50.
It’s always been my fantasy that, if I had a wish, I’d squander it on new eyes.
Actually, I’d wish for a bottomless bank account, from which my perfectly-proportioned self would help everyone in need from my 2,000 heavily wooded acres and 54,000 square-foot estate completely furnished in Art Deco antiques and rare artwork by famous dead artists, with a library on each floor containing floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with books of all kinds, next to a garage housing my exotic sports-car collection – any of which I would operate with the aid of my perfect vision.
And, if I had 2 wishes, I’d include anti-gravity breasts.
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My husband is one of the few people who can make me belly laugh - daily.
For example, yesterday I was sitting on the floor and Pumpkin, our full-bred-short-haired-brown-dog (Chuck's answer to "What kind of dog is that?") came up to me and licked me a couple of times on the cheek. I've never been a fan of dog kisses. It was only after watching "Mythbusters" and confirming that dogs' mouths are cleaner than human mouths, that I've allowed Pumpkin to kiss my cheeks and insisted that Chuck stop.
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This afternoon, I visited a friend I hadn't seen in a while. We were chatting about diet and exercise and she mentioned that she had quit drinking coffee two days ago.
Really? Why?"
"Oh, it was giving me nightmares."
"Nightmares?"
"yeah, wierd dreams. In fact, I can't even tell my husband about them or he'll think...oh, I don't know."
"What, were they dreams about your kids?" I assumed she was having nightmares about her kids being in accidents or getting lost or sick.
"No, I've been having dreams that I'm dating these really good looking men. Handsome men with piercing blue eyes."
I listened as she described her last dream.
"Hmmm," I said when she finished, "I see. Listen, since you're not drinking it anymore, mind if I take that coffee off your hands?"
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On Saturday, I went to the HEB to pick up a couple of things and stopped for a vendor sample of Merlot. There was a sign on the front of her table that read: “Parents must be present for sample.” I walked up and said, “I’d like to try a sample, but my parents aren’t here with me.”
The vendor-lady became flustered and replied, “Do you have a driver’s license?”
“You’re joking, right? I was joking. I mean, I’m old enough to have children of legal age.”
“Well, I wasn’t worried about it when you first walked up, but now that you got me thinking, I really can’t tell how old you are, so, you know, just to be safe.”
I really couldn’t believe I was being carded at a vendor booth for a tablespoon of Merlot, but I handed over my I.D. and thanked her for making my day by buying 2 bottles.
I got home and relayed the story to my quick-witted other half, “Hey, Chuck, I got carded at the HEB at a wine-tasting table.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, the vendor said she couldn’t tell how old I was without...,”
“Carbon dating?”
Ooh, he’s quick.