Why is snow allowed to wear white after Labor Day?
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Tags: fashion, funny, humor, labor day, snow, white, writing
Millions of American women subscribe to a women’s health or beauty magazine. While the tips these periodicals offer can do wonders for your growing crows feet, or help you lose those last few inches by Christmas, they’re doing more harm than good when it comes to marriages. Don’t believe me, read this dialogue:
(Rod and Calvin are two middle-aged men on a pheasant-hunting trip. Rod is driving, and both have wives at home. Rod alerts Calvin as they cross the Kansas-South Dakota border. Calvin hurriedly checks the map as they remember there is no Kansas-South Dakota border. Rod is picking the M&M’s out of a store-bought trail mix.)
ROD: (firmly) I’ll tell you Cal, Nancy’s off her rocker. Just last week, I saw her rubbing honey on her forehead. Something about wrinkles.
CALVIN: (with curiosity) Yeah, Janet does the same thing. I tried to ask her about it, and she said something about “feeling old today.”
ROD: (with gusto) Are you never making her feel special? Nancy pulls that crap on me all the time. It’s ridiculous.
CALVIN: (angrily) I’m just getting started. My boy, Kenneth, he came in from the snow. Janet thought his skin looked dry, so she made him hold pieces of bologna on his cheeks.
(Calvin flips on the radio, and settles on WJCR, a radio station based out of Omaha. He smiles as he recognizes his favorite broadcast, Mustangs, Chargers and Jesus: The Mid-West’s #1 Christian Car Show.)
ROD (lacking enthusiasm): Tell me about it. So I was putting up some Venetian blinds for Nancy, and I busted my back. For a whole week she made me bathe in a tub filled with corn flour. I was breaded like a chicken cutlet.
CALVIN (irritated): Where in the hell are they finding these tips? I swear, next time she makes us quinoa for dinner, I’m getting up. I don’t care if the “Mind and Body” column called it a miracle grain, I want pork chops.
ROD (inquisitively): Speaking of which, you hungry? There’s a saloon off the next exit.
CALVIN (sassily): No, not there. I hear they cook the riboflavin right out of their arugula salad.
(Curtains fall as Rod tells Calvin how his daily foot soak really lowers his stress level.)
People get addicted to prescription drugs. Can you get addicted to Dulcolax®?
In President Obama’s most recent State of the Union Address, he described how US students are falling behind the rest of the world in math and science. While those subjects are all well and good, what about Language Arts? In all seriousness, being able to write is one of the most important skills our nation’s students need to learn, but how can we test writing ability? Do we look at standardized tests? Having taken many of these tests, this information can’t be reliable. How many times in your adult life have you had to write a short story about an elephant that escaped from a zoo and ended up at your house? Sounds like a resounding zero. (If you said yes, I’ll buy your memoir.) Instead, as a nation, we should look at the letters kids write to their parents or Santa, asking for presents. If these letters are persuasive, that’s all that matters. If our kids are good enough, maybe they’ll be able to write letters asking for presents as adults! My fellow Americans, say goodbye to your fears of receiving socks and sweaters, we’re engineering a new generation of writers! The kind that can write letters and get whatever they want!
Retired teachers would no longer have to sit in boring, sun-less rooms with nothing but a pile of essays about the same thing. Instead, they could hide inside mailboxes at Macy’s, peel open letters, and grade our American youth to victory. Besides, the South Korean government currently raids tutoring centers because they made it illegal to study after 10 o’clock. The kids will be so stressed, they’ll never bring themselves to write anything more than they have to. Join me, and help propel America to educational success!
People are always asking me questions: Where did you learn how to command a room with your presence? What flavor body butter do you use, or is your skin just naturally radiant? Why does my heart flutter and fall like a wounded butterfly when I look at you?
Frankly, I have no idea. My mom buys my body butter.
But, to save my breath and avoid fan encounters dangerous to my reputation, (If you’re Southern, female, and think I may have fathered your child, please e-mail my support team at youhavelowselfesteem@babymamas.com.) I am going to write a book of questions and answers. And here’s the kicker: I write the questions and the answers. Hopefully, this book will inspire you to act more like me, as if the cologne wasn’t enough.
My ultimate goal with this book is to have it read in book clubs everywhere, wherein middle-aged women will like it so much they’ll send handmade textiles. You may not be able to see it through my masculine exterior, but I do appreciate quality needle-pointing. Now, without further ado, a sneak preview of my new book, Overcome Your Social Ineptitude By Acting More Like Me!
93. How can I have as many friends as you do?
If you want more friends, don’t go to all the conventional places you can find friends, such as coffee shops and playgrounds. They’re all used up in terms of friend potential, and all that’s left will be dweebs and nebbishes. Instead, start talking with people at adjacent urinals, especially in high-end stores and restaurants.
167. Why do I feel so inadequate when I compare myself to you?
I think you know the answer to that one.
303. I try to be funny like you, but I just can’t do it. Any tips?
Humor is sort of the hay in a pile of needles. Look in the wrong place, and you’ll stabbed repeatedly, but find the target, and you’ll have something to chew on for a while. Start with popsicle sticks and candy wrappers for fresh material.
When I first started seeing Facebook, it was young love: I’d skip homework to go play with it, I’d see it every day after school, and I thought we could never be separated. And then, you changed.
It all started with my “friends” using you to answer questions about me. Then you wouldn’t let me see the answer unless I bought coins. Seriously? I thought we were closer than that. I thought we could share everything (except age, sex, and location), coins or no coins.
Then, you started to change yourself nearly every week. I told you from the start, “Baby, you don’t need to change yourself for me.” But you wouldn’t listen. Every day, it seems like, you came up to me asking to update you, and I’m forced to play along. My friends and I would always complain about the new you, but you never listened.
Then there were the games you played. Why are you farming? Am I not good enough for you? Are you having an affair with a virtual farmer? Sure, cover it up with free virtual strawberries. This isn’t a game. I’m putting myself out on the web, and you’re treating it like a game.
Now, I can’t read a frickin’ news story without everyone knowing. Why do you make everything so public? Congratulations if you love Jesus, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t notice that if you re-post a million times. There will be no killer clowns in your bedroom, and your family will not be murdered if you don’t re-post, so why do you do it? Just keep scrolling.
Facebook, we had a good run, but we need some time off. I’m breaking up with you.
P.S. Facebook didn’t take it well. She responded angrily, “Fine! I don’t give a damn! Go spend time with Google+, you jerk!”
Welcome to a new series, here on the Lighter Side of the Moon. For the last few years, I’ve stood idly by, and watched fedora-wielding hipsters infest New York with their irony and over-priced baked goods. Today, in my never-ending quest for truth, I ask the tough questions, and wonder: What makes this bakery item so expensive? With each installment, we’ll uncover the secrets behind one delicious treat, and learn what those dastardly hipsters are putting in them. So, without further ado, let’s discuss our first item, the red velvet cupcake.
Surprisingly enough, there is no actual velvet in these cupcakes. They have an off-white cream cheese icing, and a deep, reddish hue. In some artisan exam-

ples of these cupcakes, it is the coloring of these cakes where the money goes to. For example, some bakers prefer to use sacrificial blood obtained from Maya prisoners-of-war in ancient Guatemala, which has been fermenting in cisterns for thousands of years. I guess you could say, they’re to die for. Other cupcakes are colored by grinding and mashing up to 72 separate kinds of beetles, from the lush tropical rain forests of Papua New Guinea. The color is so bright, you could really bug out.
Other bakers pay closer attention to the icing, which is one half of the cupcake. One cook I imagined speaking to, said he preferred the breast milk of freshly impregnated Floridian albino manatees, which would then be made into cream by imported Dutch milkmaids. The flavor of the icing is really accentuated by the fear the manatees have of being decapitated by boats. One of the more nouveau cupcakes I’ve seen has cream cheese derived from Kobe cows, but that’s not all. In order to have a lighter texture, the cream spends up to 18 months on the International Space Station, where the low gravity helps to distribute the flavor, so I’ve been told.
Now you understand why some baked goods cost more than others. If you’re feeling adventurous, give one of these cupcakes a try. The hipsters will need the cash when their parents stop funding them.