Posts tagged ‘Humor’
In the world of entertainment, there is a bit of Three’s Company in everything.
What was the basis of that ’70s sitcom? SEXUAL MISCOMMUNICATION.
Mr. Roper is fixing the pipes and hear’s Jack Tripper and Chrissy Snow upstairs in the bathroom.
“It won’t fit, Chrissy!” Jack said. “It’s too big.”
“Well keep pushing,” Chrissy shot back. “It will go in eventually.”
Sex? Of course not.
Just putting in the shower curtain rod.
Well, fast forward 20 years to American Beauty, the Oscar-winning movie with Kevin Spacey and Annette Bening playing the cheating spouses.
In the movie, how does Kevin Spacey’s character die?
The marine who lives next door is spying on Spacey and looks into the garage.
What the marine appears to see is his son stooped over and giving Kevin Spacey a blow job.
But what is really happening? The marine’s son is stooped over and rolling a joint. Kevin Spacey’s character is laying back on a weight bench.
How’d the mistake happen? There is a panel in the middle of the garage that cuts off the view of the marine so he can’t really see exactly what is going on, so just assumes his son is giving Spacey a blow job. He just sees his son bent over and sees Spacey grunting simultaneously (from weight lifting).
So the homophobic marine rushes over to the garage and kisses Spacey and, when rejected, shoots him in the next scene.
Now, how is that any different than the episode of Three’s Company called “Stanley’s Hotline.”
Here’s the plot straight from IMDB: “Mr. Roper discovers a direct line to listen in on the trio’s apartment — through the bathroom pipes he is fixing. He overhears part of a conversation between Jack, Chrissy and Linda (who is staying with them while Janet is visiting her parents). From what he hears, he thinks Chrissy is pregnant, although what is wrong is that she has an ugly wart on her hand. Roper tells his wife, who immediately goes to Chrissy to convince her to keep the baby. Chrissy straightens her out, and they pull a trick on Roper to get even with him for spying on them.”
Now, granted, Mr. Roper didn’t get his brains splattered on his kitchen table, ala Kevin Spacey. But this was the 70’s.
By the way, the classic part of that episode is that Mr. Roper hears Chrissy saying how she “just wants to get rid of it” and believes Chrissy is contemplating an abortion. The landlord then hears Jack Tripper asks Chrissy just how she plans to do that and Chrissy blurts out, “A nail clipper.” Ah, what better way to bring a controversial debate to America’s consciousness than via America’s darling platonic roomates?
The show was all about sexual miscommunication. It’s the one theme that made the 1970s the last great frontier of sitcom TV.
By the 21st century, the sexual miscommunication-themed sitcom would die, ruined with the invention of the cell phone. Think about it. Nearly every episode of Seinfeld would be cut in half if they just had cellphones.
George is concerned that his girlfriend doesn’t return calls. George avoids a breakup by not answering his land line. George can’t call his girlfriend at the Chinese restaurant because all the pay phones are being used. Jerry and Elaine are stuck at a party until 3 a.m. because Kramer loses the instructions of where to pick them up.
All of these problems solved with a cell phone.
The Last Boy Scout, starring Bruce Willis and Damon Wayans.
The opening scene, there is a pill-popping gambling football player who has to score a TD at all costs. So he’s packing a pistol. Now, stay with me here, that’s not my problem. On a pass play, he catches it and has to get in the endzone. He breaks the first three tackles, but there is still half a team waiting for him. The fourth opposing defender stands before him and is about to tackle him and then the receiver pulls out a gun and shoots the defender in the eye. Now, I’m still along for the ride. Suspend your disbelief. There are no metal detectors for players.
But here’s where the movie loses me.
The receiver STILL HAS TO SHOOT TWO MORE GUYS WHO, APPARENTLY, ARE SO DEAD SET AGAINST ALLOWING A TOUCHDOWN THEY ARE WILLING TO TAKE A CAP IN THE ASS.
And despite making it to the highest level of their chosen profession, these defenders still don’t know the rules of the game. Shooting someone on the field is a penalty last time I checked! Rule 15-Paragraph A of the official Rule Book reads: “Putting a cap in someone’s ass is considered unsportsman like conduct. A 15-yard penalty.”
So the moment the linebacker had a bullet in his eye, the flags are flying. The touchdown will be called back.
Still, the next two guys STILL try to tackle Billy The Kid and are shot like convenience store clerk during a hold up because ….. you play to the whistle?
Fallen, starring Denzel Washington.
In the final scene, Denzel Washington plays a cop who has been tracking a demon that is able to transfer from human to human and, hence, has existed for thousands of years.
Washington lures the demon out to a remote cabin. The demon at that point now controls the body of Denzel’s partner, John Goodman.
After a fight, Denzel shoots Goodman and then tells the demon his plan: he is going to kill John Goodman, hence forcing the demon out and allowing it only one other person to inhabit – Denzel. But Denzel has outsmart the demon. He’s smoking a poisonous cigarette as he’s telling the demon his plan. He shoots the demon, then dies as the demon is trapped in his body from the poison in a remote area with no other bodies for miles.
Great ending to the story. The problem?
The demon survives when a stray, feral cat shows up.
You don’t change the clearly accepted rules of the game at the last moment just to fool the viewer. That’s bad porn. If the demon can soul jump into an animal, then it can jump into an ant, or a beaver, or a worm, or any living organism and you got the Jason Voorhees Friday The 13th Movie dilemma – if you can’t kill it, why am I watching?
How do I end it? Simple. Denzel still kills himself. But instead of a cat, the demon runs into the cabin and finds the only other human still alive – Britney Spears. Oh, Mr. Demon, you’ve just been dumbed down into the world of insignificance. You’ll be haunting Hollywood’s high-end boutiques for the next 10 years and be the laughing stock of Hades. Yeah, Mr. Demon, that’s some resume you got there. Hmmmmmm. Ruled most of Asia as Genghis Khan …. then skipped over to Caligula and partied like it was AD99 for a few decades and now the demons from hell are youtubing video of you drunk and flashing your shaved hoochie as you exit a limo.
Jeepers Creepers 2, starring no one you ever heard of, but I’m a sucker for cheesey horror film sequels.
The Creeper is a winged-flesh eating terror that every 23 years is animated from a stasis and goes on a 23-day killing frenzy. After the 23 days, it becomes de-activated again until the next 23 years pass.
At the end of the movie, three teenagers come to see the “bat out of hell”, which is the creature crucified to a cross in a barn by the man who fought The Creeper about 23 years ago until his 23 days were up.
The teens ask, “How’d you kill it?”
“Stabbed it right through the heart,” the man says.
“When?” The teens ask.
“About 23 years ago,” the man says.
“You waiting for something?” the teens ask.
“About three more days .. give or take a day or two,” the man says.
So the man now sits in a lawn chair with a shotgun in his lap while the Creeper sits crucified to the cross in the barn.
So, here’s my issue.
You stabbed it. Shot it. Ran over it. It still didn’t die.
So what’s the point of putting the thing back up on its cross so when it comes back, you can shoot it? Again?
Here’s what I’d do… and you got 22 plus years to do it.
Get a barrel, fill it with quick-dry cement (hell, it could even be the slow-drying type) and put the creature in the barrel, fill it with the cement up to its head.
When it is reanimated 23 years later, it’s got a little issue. It’s now part-creature, part sidewalk.
Hey, Creeper, yeah, uh, you’re really scaring me with your head sticking out of 1,000 gallons of dried cement. Yeah, and that sign above you does read, “Kiss the monster for $1.” And yeah, I am offering senior citizens a 50 cent discount. Get that 12-inch tongue warmed up.
Automatically, any man over the age of 35 starts out with a negative two modifier.
What’s a “modifier?”
Look at a woman with big boobs. What do you rate her on a scale to 1-10? Let’s say it’s an 8. Now, rate her without giving considerations to the tits. What is she now? A 6! Breasts are a plus two modifier.
Well, modifiers can work against you.
For men, the worst is unwieldly hair. Unwanted hair on men is the ONE thing women evaluate but NEVER talk about unless prodded. When a female colleague dates a man, it’s the first question I ask, “What was the hair situation?” You’d be shocked how much attention women pay to that.
Seinfeld joked about nose and ear puberty. What the show didn’t cover is the problems it can cause in dating for older men if it is not maintained.
Here’s a few tips:
Nose hair is the most easily manageable. For $15, you can get clippers and get out the nose hair. It should be part of the routine maintenance you give your body.
Eyebrows. Monobrow. Whatever you want to call it, get a pair of tweesers and pull out that “eye hair garden” once every four days. It virtually painless.
Ears. I’ve seen some men who look like they have tumbleweed in their ears. In my office, one attractive woman wondered if a colleague had problems hearing because of it. TRIM THAT! Remember that old commercial of the native American standing on the side of the road seeing all the garbage and crying? You see the stalks of hair coming out of his ear? In some instances, ear hair can be a minus FOUR modifier. I know a woman who rejected a man she met on a dating online system solely because he had what looked to be miniature hands of hair reaching out. Simply put, of all the places unwanted hair can sprout, the ear is single most type that results in a “the deal killer.”
And the hardest to combat? Back hair. I love Law and Order. Want to know a secret of the show? When they want to show a low-class white dude, give him back hair. I’m talking the hair sweater. Most times, that is how you can tell who committed the crime on that show? Which suspect has the most back hair? So what to do? Back hair should be shaved once a day from four inches ABOVE the elbow to the entire shoulder mid-back region. You will eventually be left with two strips of hair in the middle of the back from where you can’t reach. I call it “the hair railroad tracks to nowhere.” It’s the best you can do. It takes a minus four and turns it into a minus one. It’s minimizing your weaknesses.
Everybody plays the fool, so the song goes.
But not EVERYONE pays that Ass-Tax.
That is man’s cross to bear.
What is the Ass-Tax?
It’s when men lose money one way or another over an attractive woman they WILL not have sex with.
There are many variations of it – like the flu it comes in many different strains.
A police officer letting the attractive woman out of a ticket. ASS TAX
A male college student helping a co-ed move out of her dorm into an apartment. ASS TAX. (A note here to the under 25-crowd, moving a chick’s belongings is the most prevalent form of ass tax being paid on campuses around the country. You spend three hours of hard labor moving shit and for what? A thanks while she runs off that night to party with the guy she’s going to nail who wasn’t around when that sofa had to be moved down three flights of stairs.)
Paying for a woman’s drinks at a bar. ASS TAX
Surprisingly, although attractive women benefit constantly from the tax levy, they really don’t understand it. I had one attractive co-worker tell me that she told a male friend who was saving money to pay for his marriage that he was paying the ass tax. I promptly corrected her and told her she was misunderstanding the application of the tax. That man was giving up money for sex at a later date. Therefore, the ass tax doesn’t apply. He’s going to tag that chick down the road. Hence, he’s getting some value for that expense.
I had a flat tire where I work and there is a nearby tire store that charged me $110 for a new tire. An attractive female worker told me she had the same thing a month earlier, but they threw in a free tire. ASS TAX.
Some in the legal profession have been known to give legal services to free or give a reduced rate for attractive prospective female clients. (Check the paper work on female strippers in court and what they pay for their DUI charge they need legal representation for. Pro-bono? Pro-boner!)
Unfortunately, there are only two certainties in life – death and taxes.
The ass tax will live forever. Why?
Because men think with dicks and pay with their wallets and we’ve never been able to short-circuit that process.
If you want to know God’s message to man about marriage, it is buried in the warm waters of the Indian and Pacific oceans.
It is the Clownfish.
The Clownfish spends its life swimming circles around an anemonefish. Technically, the godless will point to science for this relationship. The mucous coating of the clownfish is believed to be based on sugars rather than proteins and, therefore, the anemones don’t realize the clownfish as potential food. But here is where the scientific community strays.
But we know better. The answer isn’t found in science, but in man’s oldest tradition. The anomene and Clownfish are married.
The facts are undeniable.
The Clownfish spends his life on a pretty short leash – just circling the anemone. Why? Because the Clownfish are henpecked.
The anemone is a very attractive poisonous fish. It doesn’t like to go out because it has no friends. It’s that whole “I only got my credit card can you pick up the tab?” followed by the whole “poison-you-and-eat-you”gig. But the anemone is cunning. It knows its act has gotten old. So what to do? It can’t survive alone, being the prototype for the insecure, attractive female on land.
So it marries the life of the party .. the stupid but attractive Clownfish. Everyone wants to party with the Clownfish. He’s was a blast as a bachelor. Always brought the beer. You could always crash on his couch if you drank too much.
But Clownfish meets anemone and it’s life’s oldest story. Boy meets girl. Boy likes girl. Boy gets stupid.
But not the anemone. It won’t cannibalize it husbands. The Clownfish are the only species immune to the poison of the anemones. But other fish aren’t. After the anemone paralyzes and eats a fish, the Clownfish will unknowingly devour the remaining uneaten portions and pieces. So the Anomene lets the Clownfish have a few friends over for a beer, then devours them and makes the Clownfish EAT their remains. “Yo. Honey. What’s this crazy stuff in the Rice Chex mix. Smells like Fred,” Clownfish says. “Hey, where is Fred?”
“Fred went home. He wasnt’ feeling well,” the anomene says. “Where’s the %$&%^##@ dental floss?”
Then the Clownfish gets a bad rap. “We’re not going over to your house Friday night,” the other fish say. “Your wife will kill us.” The Clownfish is offended by such outrageous statements. The anemone is beautiful, he thinks. In fact, anemone got their name from a terrestrial flower. And, he thinks, she’s never done me wrong. Poison tentacles my ass. I sleep with those tentacles wrapped around me every night.
And so the Clownfish will never realize what is happening. Why? Because he is aptly named Clownfish. Think of all the complicated, scientific names scientists have given creatures over the years. Yet, observing this fish in action, the scientific community shrugged and said, “What a clown.”
And the cycle continues. Both under and above the water.