Archives For Humor

O, Canada!

randomlychad  —  January 28, 2016 — 4 Comments

Canada. Land of maple syrup and poutine. America’s hat. You are home to some of the gosh darn nicest folks in this, or any other, galaxy. Lo, it has been many years since I visited your fair shores. But visit you I did one summer in my youth.

Here’s how it happened:

My bother and I were summering with the grandparents in the cool pines of Western Pennsylvania, when one say grandma decided we needed to see the falls. Niagara, that is. So she hustled us into her Oldsmolbuick, and off we were on a road trip. Over the river, and through the woods, with grandmother we went… to Buffalo. Home of wings, Bills, and freezing temperatures. And not a lot else.

In any case, grandma decided that experiencing the falls from the U.S. side, well, was falling a bit short. So crossed the border (“What’s your purpose in visiting Canada, eh?” “Coming to see the falls, sir.” “Well, have a lovely day, and don’t forget the syrup”), and headed for the view.

It was water. It was wet, moist, and misty. I’m not gonna lie, Marge, the surge of that powerful stream is pretty impressive. But it didn’t leave as much of an impression as the Canadian bread shop did. You see, grandma wanted to buy some bread. So why not buy it from a friendly Canadian shop keeper, eh?

So we did. And there, in amongst the loaves, was a special surprise.

“Grandma, what’s this?” I asked, holding up this unknown Canadian prize.

Turning to me, shrieked she, “Here now! Put. That. Down!” You have to understand, I was about eleven at the time. I goggled back at grandma, wondering what it was I held in my outstretched hand.

“Put that dirty thing down now! Where did you find that?”

You see, what I didn’t know at the time, what I held in front of poor grandma’s shocked visage, found there with the Wonderbread, was a Canadian wonder then unknown to my young mind:

An unrolled condom.
(It was probably maple-flavored, but we’ll never know).

O, Canada!

If you’re experiencing any of the following, you might be an aging male. I’m sorry.

1) In addition to having a mind of their own, your eyebrows appear to be the only part of your body rich in HGH (human growth hormone).

2) The foliage in your ears is denser than that of the Amazon rain forest.

3) In the choice between sleep and sex, you choose sleep every time.

4a) Nocturnal emissions no longer refers to, well, you know, but rather the number of times you have to get up to empty your bladder.

4b) It also refers to the amount of noxious gas emanating from your supine form during the night hours.

5) You have two sets of glutes; one where it belongs, in the seat of wisdom. And the other, well, it’s usually referred to as a “beer belly.” Even though you, at your doctor’s behest, have long since given up beer.

What signs and symptoms of aging have you observed in yourself?

Author: Bill McChesney Author URL: https://www.flickr.com/people/bsabarnowl/ Title: 24230 Communion and Extended Communion First Presbyterian Church Charlottesville April 3, 2011 Year: 2011 Source: Flickr Source URL: https://www.flickr.com License: Creative Commons Attribution License License Url: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/ License Shorthand: CC-BY Download Image

 
Church culture fascinates me. For instance, who decided that in the order of service communion should follow the greeting? You know what I’m talking about. There’s that time, every Sunday, when pastor announces that we should “extend the right hand of fellowship” to those around us? He means shake hands and say “Hi” to make folks feel welcome.

Well and good. People should feel welcome in our churches. I don’t have an issue with greeting folks (except that I mostly want to sit down and keep to myself). My problem is that when Communion Sunday rolls around it always comes after the greeting and not before.

My problem is that I don’t know where all those hands have been, you know? Who’s been scratching their head, nose, etc.? Who’s gone to the restroom (and not washed)? Who’s been changing diapers? Who’s (maybe) picked their nose, sneezed, coughed, whatever? (I’m sure you’ve seen that one guy who, when he thought no one was looking, scratched his posterior).

The answers are:

Don’t know

Don’t know

Don’t know

Don’t wanna know

Don’t know

And Ew!

And yet it never fails that I’m supposed to take communion, by placing that flavorless wafer in my mouth using the very hand I’ve just used to greet my brothers and sisters. They should have hand sanitizer dispensers as on the backs of pews so we can all freshen our hands before partaking of the Lord’s Supper.

It’s just a thought. 

I mean the juice comes in a little cup, right? Why not put that little, flavorless, moisture-sucking pellet in a cup, too–instead of in a receptacle where we all have to fish it out by hand? That’s just a thought, too, you know.

Then again, what if, say, the church implements a two-cup system (two cups, one… never mind), with the wafer in the bottom, and the wine substitute in the upper cup. What happens, say, if that juice sloshes around, or if the volunteers were a little too enthusiastic jamming those communion cups together? I’d say that the situation is ripe for that one perfect storm you never want to have happen when partaking of the Lord’s Supper:

Spilling Jesus.

What is spilling Jesus? It’s when the little cups either get stuck in the tray, and you can’t get them out, or the cups themselves are wedged so tightly together, that you end up spilling the juice all over yourself, your wife, her new dress, and the pew.

Not that that’s ever happened to me, mind you. It’s just a good thing I’m not Catholic (speaking of, can you imagine taking communion from the same cup? Many people, one cup? Yuck!).

I’m not sure what (if any) the lesson in all this is. Maybe we just need to be careful about how and where we spill Jesus?

In the history of advertising, there are successful slogans (“Here’s to the crazy ones!), and not so successful ones:

This, from Mucinex:

“Hey, you, Phlegmwad! Loosen up!”

As you can imagine, this didn’t play well in Peoria (or anywhere for that matter).

This one, from Metamucil:

“We’ve got the fiber if you’ve got the chyme.”

Despite it being altogether alimentary no one knows just what the heck “chyme” is.

The makers of Pop Rocks actually almost came to market with a laxative; their slogan? “Plop, plop, fizz, fizz, oh what a relief it is.” They were of course promptly sued by Alka-Seltzer, who were granted an injunction, and all rights to “Poop Rocks.”

In an attempt to broaden its appeal to the hip-hop crowd, Ex-Lax launched its “Drop it like it’s hot” campaign. As you can imagine, this didn’t really come out all right in the end.

Viagra nearly came to market with “Are your boys feeling blue? Don’t take the red pill–pop the blue one, it’s not hard at all.” This wasn’t quite the message they were intending to convey.

How about? What failed slogans have you seen?

image

“Behold the mobile prostate van,
Let all your trousers fall,
Bring forth a shining speculum
For this won’t hurt at all.”

I saw this on the street today. As a man of a certain age, I’ve been there–in the doctor’s office, mind you. There’s no way I’d head into some van to have my nethers poked and prodded.

NO. WAY.

In fact, after I recovered from the sheer horror and shock of seeing the smiling faces on the side of the van (I mean seriously, who enjoys the finger wave? the old guy looks happy, the guy in the middle has got a face saying “can we do that again that was kinda fun,” the football player has assumed the position, and I’m not sure what the couple is doing–lady, you don’t have one), it occurred to me that this is kind of comical. I know prostate cancer is no laughing matter, but getting checked sure is a pain in the butt!

Now turn your head and cough…

Okay, that was bad, but somehow it just doesn’t make me wanna sing ‘He Touched Me,’ you know? Because I can assure that it wouldn’t be joy which flooded my soul… You wanna know something else? When I was a new believer lo these many years ago, we would sing ‘All Hail the Power of Jesus Name’ at the church. When we got to the second verse–because I didn’t know the word, “prostrate” at the time–I heartily sang to “let angels’ prostates fall.”

Hold that image in your mind’s eye for a minute. Who’s gonna clean that up? “Angels,” came a booming voice, “pick up your prostates! Put them back. Let’s try this again. Clean up in aisle five.”

“All hail the power of Jesus name… No, no, no!”

——————————-

Okay, seriously, while our body parts/bodily functions may indeed cause us some discomfiture, the need for prostrate screening is real. Men, get checked. For your sake, for your family’s, for everyone who Depends upon you.

This has been a PSA from your friendly, neighborhood RandomlyChad. Oh, and, “Thank-you, sir! May I have another!”