Category — Humor Writing

boost your memory.

I promise I’m not messing with you.

I read this amazing tip in Prevention Magazine. September Issue 2009.

Here are the instructions. Block your right nostril, but if you use a finger to do this, don’t insert it up the nose. Otherwise, you’ll look and sound like a creepy nose-picker. (The last bit is my own advice)

Now, breathe 27 times in and out through the left nostril. You can do this a couple times a day as needed, but no more than four times a day. Don’t ask me why there’s a limit.

Then Voila! You’ll instantly remember that which has eluded you.

However,if you try this memory activating exercise, your kid might say, “Mom, are you like having a heart attack? Do you need a paper bag or something?”

If this happens, drop your finger immediately and cease the single nostril yoga breathing so that you can reassure your frightened child. “Why no, honey. Mom’s just trying to remember where she parked the car.”

Your child might respond like this. “Ah, Mom. Please don’t ever do that in front of me or anyone else again. Okay?”

But at that precise moment,your memory kicks in and you remember where you parked the car. And you vow to practice it four times a day, every single day. Because you need the memory boost. You need it real bad. So you shake your head in regret and say, “Sorry. I can’t make that promise.”

Your child sighs. Her shoulders droop.

And you can’t wait to read the next issue of Prevention magazine.

Let’s start with the “duh”. Laughter is good for you. The doctors say so. The shrinks say so. I say so.

Five things laughter does for you
1.Lowers the risk of heart disease.
2.Increases your happiness level.
3.Tightens your stomach muscles.
4.You look nicer.
5.You feel nicer.

The movie, “Hangover,” made a pile of dough last summer. For one BIG, no brainer reason. It was hysterical!!

I laughed so hard I cried. I laughed so loudly my husband had to hush me multiple times. Afterward, my stomach ached but in a good way. I felt exhilirated and relaxed at the same time! As an adult, how often does that happen anymore?

I’m a multi-tasking, super-responsible woman with a husband and children, so I seek out every opportunity to bust a gut. Comedy clubs. Funny movies and tv shows. YouTube videos. Books. My children. Cartoon strips. Myself. Jokes. My husband. The dog. The cat. The list is endless.

Levity enriches life. It makes it bearable. It makes it fun.

I say laugh more and live better!

Food.
The whole gang.
I now know I can have a happy, healthy relationship with EVERBODY.
Cause it’s okay to be friends with a little creamy, buttery, warm, and soft, silky smooth, etc., etc.
We just can’t hang out ALL the time.
ONE cookie is great.
Man, I nibble at that ONE cookie with a great big smile on my face.
Then I say, “later dudes,” and walk away.
The best part is…
I’m still losing a couple pounds a week.
I’m no longer mad.
I’m no longer sad.
And my sense of humor has returned.
Hallelujah!
I’m back!

not my marriage, silly people! Husband is good. He’s alive and, no, I told you before, the book is not about him.
I’m talking about the break-up of my relationship with all my favorite foods. You see, I’ve been indulging in dozens of affairs with, well everything creamy and rich, and salty, and savory, and soft and warm, and buttery, and sweet, and …
Oh,mamma! It hurts too much to talk about them!
You see I’ve made a choice to relinquish my darlings for an uptight, hard-ass, humorless, buzz-wrecking, DIET.
This DIET is supposed to CLEAN out all the crapola in my system and make me skinnier.
Problem is I love crapola and I know, I KNOW it loves me back.
“I can’t live, if living is without you.” This song plays in my head continously. Imagine me singing it softly while swaying back and forth.
Well, of course I can live, but life has lost its luster.
I feel despondent without my good-time friends.
I have crazy dreams about food. Last night I dreamed somebody stole my breadsticks (I suspect these hard little rods may not actually qualify as food) and left me with Melba Toast which I can’t for the life of me choke down.
Am I destined to become thin but sad?
Will I no longer be able to write humor?
The answer to these questions and more … next week.

So you want people to think you’re funny.

You want evidence in the form of a physical reaction to verify that YOU ARE SIMPLY HYSTERICAL.

A snort, a roar, a chuckle, a giggle, a guffah, a shriek, a snicker, a convulse, a cackle, a chortle, a whoop, even a LOL text will confirm for you that indeed, you are the King or Queen of making people laugh.

I say to you aspiring humor writers, Delivery is key.

Delivery is as important as the hilarious lines you had difficulty typing because you were cracking yourself up so bad you could barely see the page.

Delivery is the catapult, the mechnism that launches those hilarious lines straight at someone’s funny bone. Without it, your humor just sits there. Harmless. Impotent. Inactive. NOT FUNNY.

Ponder this revelation.

Then return to learn how to build a catapult to launch your nuggets of humor and obtain everlasting glory.

I’m looking for a new car.
Something way smaller than the bus I drive now.
Something sporty, edgy, fun. I want a stick shift. I want a sun roof. I want a six speaker Bose stereo system so I can blast my 70′s music.
I want a Mazda 5 Speed hatchback in white or blue. Problem is … car shopping sucks.
My friend just shared with me the details of her experience.
“They” tried every trick in the book. Multiple psychological assaults. Good cop. Bad cop. And so on. She was in their show room for 6 HOURS with her two kids!!
My friend is one tough, well-informed, chick. They were unable to break her. But she left utterly depleted. She couldn’t sleep that night because of her interrogation-like car buying experience.
I don’t know if I’m as strong as my friend. But I do have one thing going for me.
I’m a little wacky. No, make that a lot a wacky.
“Zoom, zoom, zoom.” The song’s been’s stuck in my head since I’ve started looking at the Mazda 5 Speed hatchback in white or blue.
So, here’s my plan to outwit “them.” My husband and I will go to the showroom together. He’ll do the talking. While he’s doing the talking, I’ll do the singing.
“Zoom, zoom, zoom.”
Like a crazy woman,I’ll sing the words.
Over and over again.
“Zoom, zoom, zoom.”
Until I drive them mad.
“Zoom, zoom, zoom.”
Until they break and hand me the keys to my white or blue Mazda 5 speed hatchback without further ado.
“Zoom, zoom, zoom.”

This post is about a scapegoat. An astrological scapegoat, Mercury Retrograde. If the last few weeks of your life have been … suckie … this scapegoat dedication goes out to you.

Do you appear to be moving backward?

Refrain: (I like to sing it) Blame it on Mercury Retrograde.

Are you experiencing communication difficulties in every area of your life?

Blame it on Mercury Retrograde.

Are you feeling stymied?

Blame it on Mercury Retrograde.

But never fear, it’s all over now.

So long, Mercury Retrograde.

Now I need to take responsibility for my life again.

I’ll miss you, Mercury Retrograde.

Part IV
The Conclusion
Plastic Perfection Sucks

I awoke with a start. Something was wrong. My face felt tight, as if I had left a mud mask on overnight. I tried to sit up, but a weight on my chest made it difficult. Peering down, I saw jutting mountains where sliding molehills once existed. Good Heavens! I must be dreaming.

I shut my eyes, took a big breath, and instructed my brain to wake up. This time I opened my lids as far as they would go and saw … those mountains again … and freakishly long legs that dangled over the foot board. What was going on? Panic choked me. Lunging upward, I heaved my top heavy, stilt-legged body out of bed and stumbled to the mirror.

Plastic perfection gazed back at me. “Oh, no! Oh, please, no! NOT BARBIE!!! That’s not what I meant!”

A feminine voice laughed inside my head. “You asked for perfect and beautiful.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a peculiar sight. A miniature VW bug, banana- colored, was racing toward the door. A tiny woman with spiral gray antennas sticking out of her head, and spider vein tattoos located in the strangest places, sat at the wheel.

Be careful what you wish for.

The End.

Part III
The Babe Takes Matters into Her Own Hands

A full moon the color of blood. Midnight. A courageous heart. Barbie closed the spell book. All the conditions were right. It’s tonight or never, girlfriend.

Dressed in black capri trousers, a black-ribbed turtleneck and black soft-soled flats, Barbie crept down the stairs of her three-story townhouse. She dare not wake her sister, Kelly. Kelly, the practical one, would try to stop her. Outside, she saw the little girl had parked her Banana yellow VW bug right in front. She took a moment to check the angle of her black velvet beret in the mirror and reapply a second coat of cherry red lipstick before starting the motor.

Once she cleared the playroom area, Barbie gunned the vehicle across the most dangerous part of the journey, the open hallway. The family cat patrolled these corridors hourly. Shifting into sixth gear, she put the petal to the floor. The bug shot across the white carpeted expanse in five seconds flat. When she hit the master bedroom, she turned off the engine and slid out of the car. Throwing her climbing gear over her right shoulder, she set off toward the towering bed. If everything went according to plan, she would began a new life tomorrow.

Please, please, let this work. I’m so tired of looking perfect and beautiful. I need a change and some different men in my life. I am so sick of Ken and GI Joe. I wonder what happened to Steve Austin, the Six Million Dollar Man? Those bionic parts … Focus, Barbie! You have one shot.

The final episode of Desperation Made Me Do It will post tomorrow!
Part IV Plastic Perfection Sucks

Part II
Legendary Beauty

For over fifty years, one woman has epitomized the California Beach Beauty. Waist length blond tresses, skin the color of a summer sunset, legs that go on and on … and on, a bosom Pamela Sue Anderson would envy …. only one woman possesses the whole package. Barbie.

For over fifty years, this paragon of perfection has been relentlessly pursued by different, yet equally determined men. Ken, the dapper playboy, a man who, despite his considerable charm and money has yet to win Barbie’s heart. GI Joe, who tried to abduct Barbie repeatedly via, helicopter, airplane, parachute, and army tank. But Barbie refused to be taken. She refused to relinquish her heart or her body. Barbie survived year after year, adored by millions of girls and women until one evening …

Check back tomorrow for Part III
The Babe Takes Matters into Her Own Hands