Tag Archives: writing

It’s Official

16 Aug

Yesterday, at the Yankee game, I noticed that seemingly every company claims to have an official product of the Yankees. From pudding to mustard to luxury car, nearly every company can claim that their merchandise is “official”. I wondered just how far this advertising trend could go:

ANNOUNCER: And now, a few words from our sponsors.

Keep life moving on the farm with Bjornsson’s, the official animal birthing lubricant of the New York Yankees.

Throw a knuckleball into your digestive system using Ipecac, the official emetic of the New York Yankees.

Enjoy the elegant scenery of Belgium, the official European country of the New York Yankees.

If you’re looking to redecorate, head on over to Ikea, the official hex-wrench assembled furniture of the New York Yankees.

And finally, there’s no better way to spend an afternoon than enjoying some Philadelphia Phillies baseball, the official sports team of the New York Yankees.

 

 

 

(My dad made me write this: I have no affiliation with any of these companies, especially Bjornsson’s animal birthing lubricant.)

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Putting the “Art” in “Fart”

15 Aug

This last week, I fisnished my final summer at camp. Traditionally, the oldest group of campers are taken on a week-long trip to California, and this year’s didn’t fail to meet expectations. However, amongst Hollywood, Laguna Beach, Rodeo Drive, someone had the shortsightedness to bring a group of 23 teenage boys to the Getty Art Museum. Here are a few choice quotations that could be heard if you just so happened to be there on  the same day as us:

“I bet you I can get closer to the paintings than you before the guard notices.”

“Hey, look! If you touch it like this, you can see the paint chips fall off!”

“This place is huge. I wish I brought my roller skates.”

“Sssssh. You’ll wake that old guy on the couch.”

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Gone Fishing

22 Jun

Though the humor on this blog is mature, the author is not. Being in ninth grade, my comedic aspirations are often put on hold by normal high school stuff. For the last two weeks, I have been studying for finals, which surprisingly, is not all that funny. For the next seven weeks, like many boys my age, I will be living it up at summer camp. Unfortunately, my ability to use a computer during that time remains undecided, so posts will be sporadic at best. In the fall, The Lighter Side of the Moon will be back and better than ever, so don’t worry. Until then, get off the computer, get out of the house, and get a tan from something other than screen glare. See you then!

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The Waiting Game

4 Jun

(A girl named Millicent, and her mother, Blythe, who lives vicariously through her child, are at the Department of Motor Vehicles. Being the DMV, they are waiting at the back of an extremely long line.)

MILLICENT: Oh my god! This line is ridiculous! Everywhere we go, we have to wait in line!

BLYTHE (looking up from her bedazzled iPhone): Right? You’d think this DMV could at least try to be somewhat organized!

MILLICENT: Here, I’ll ask this guy in front of us to let us move up.

(Millicent taps him on the shoulder. He turns.)

MILLICENT: Sir, we’re really in a rush to go to my equestrian meet, and I was wondering if you would let us move in front of you in line?

MAN 1: Excuse me? No. You may not cut me.

MILLICENT: But my equestrian meet!

MAN 1: Oh wow. That really makes me reconsider your predicament. With all the pain and suffering around the world, your equestrian meet is really a top priority.

MILLICENT: So we can pass you?

MAN 1: Hell no! And screw your horses!

(Millicent turns, indignant and hurt. Minutes pass as the two wait in line, missing time to catch up on each other’s life as they waste away on their cell phones. Blythe takes occasional swigs from the Bloody Mary in her coffee cup.)

BLYTHE: Oh my god. Oh. My. God! We haven’t moved in literally hours! (gesturing toward a man walking by) Do you know when the lines might start moving again?

MAN 2: Sorry, I don’t work here.

BLYTHE: In the meantime, where can we find the registration forms?

MAN 2: What? I said I don’t work here. Is something wrong with you?

BLYTHE (to Millicent): Well, the staff is so unhelpful around here.

(Man 2 walks away, bewildered. Blythe and Millicent inch closer to the counter.)

CLERK: Next! Next!

BLYTHE: Oh wow! We were waiting so long I forgot what the sound of a clerk sounded like!

CLERK (angrily): What do you want?

BLYTHE: Millicent, would you like to talk to this lady?

MILLICENT (curtly): No.

BLYTHE: Ok, so the reason we’re here is that last week my daughter got her driver’s license. And she was driving around in the Wrangler when a lamp pole came out of nowhere and hit her car. So we got it fixed, but I saw her license and,

CLERK: Hurry up. Do you see this line?

BLYTHE: Well, I was just wondering if we could retake the picture for her driver’s license.

CLERK: Next!

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What Are You Reading?

28 May

(Two people are seated across from each other on the subway. Both are reading on e-readers. The male addresses the female and catches her attention.)

PETER: Say, what are you reading on that Nook?

MARGE: Oh, this is Kafka. Don’t you just love his use of symbolism?

PETER: Very much, very much indeed. At the moment I’m reading Thoreau’s poetry from the 1830’s. It really moves beyond the quotidian nature scenes of the era. Do you enjoy transcendentalism? Have you read Ralph Waldo Emerson?

MARGE: Transcendenta-what? Oh, transcendentalentalentalism. I know that rather well. He’s the guy that wears a red striped sweater in that kids search-and-find book, yes?

PETER: I was flipping through The New Yorker this morning and I saw a review of a new play coming out this week. It’s a four hour dialogue between pieces of hair on the head of a Pakistani orphan. Care to join me?

MARGE: Sure. Sounds great.

PETER: Ah, it’s a frisson getting to know such a literary bon vivant as yourself. It is so taxing, listening to the endless droll of these  uneducated louts, don’t you agree?

MARGE: I have a confession to make. This isn’t Kafka. It’s 50 Shades of Grey. I said it was Kafka to impress you.

PETER: I also have a confession to make. I don’t read the New Yorker; my niece did that play with her drama club last winter. And this isn’t Thoreau, either. It’s a novelization of the second Transformers movie.

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Mitt Romney on a Sunday Afternoon

22 May

Last week, Mitt Romney held an exclusive brunch at one of the homes in our town. Obviously, the best way for Mitt to avoid my ridicule is to show up at an intimate social setting in the largest mansion in town. So, without further ado, some choice sound bites from the campaign brunch on Sunday.

“America is a land of hard workers. The people are ready to go find a job, but Barack Obama is preventing them. We need someone in-touch with the everyman, someone who gets people like this waiter! While I have your attention, Pablo, I think we ran out of smoked salmon. Oh, and ease up on the caviar. Prices are soaring since belugas went on the endangered species list.”

“I’m sick of the way airlines get special tax exemptions. I try to boycott their businesses because of the way they abuse the consumer. That’s why I always fly charter.”

“Oh, you’re from Mexico? My father was born there. Don’t you just love Acapulco in May? Hello? Hablas inglés? Where is your green card?”

“The American textiles industry has a lot of growth potential. In fact, it could be one of the biggest job producers. My sweater? Oh, this is hand-made Peruvian cashmere. Please don’t touch it.”

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The Garage Sale Snafu

12 May

Garage sales are great. It’s amazing how one person’s trash becomes another man’s trash in six months. However, it’s important to make sure that underneath the great prices and permanent mustiness, you actually understand what product you’re getting.

KATE: Wow…these self-help tapes were so cheap at that garage sale. I think I’ll finish this one…

TAPE: Who’s powerful?

KATE: I am!

TAPE: Who’s confident?

KATE: I am!

TAPE: Who’s ready to take on the world?

KATE: I am!

TAPE: This is the first tape in my new audio diary. Obviously, I decided to use some old self-help cassettes instead of buying new, blank sets. If you’re hearing this, please turn it off immediately/

KATE: Wait, what?

TAPE: October 7, 1985 – Today, I didn’t leave the house. I still haven’t exactly come to terms with the death of my goldfish, so I sit laid on the couch in my underwear and cried.

KATE: Maybe I should turn this off…

TAPE: Thankfully, nobody will ever get to know that I, Ken Jacobs, mourned the death of my goldfish for three weeks. My therapist says an excess of attachment has caused my difficulties in letting go, and has recommended I move out of my mother’s house. I’m almost packed, but I don’t think I can bring my whole seashell collection.

KATE: This is so … horrifying.

TAPE: Well, I think today’s entry is over. I need to file my toenails. The fungus came back.

KATE: Please tell me I bought the next tape…

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Mind Your P’s and Q’s

6 May

Parents who want the best for their children go to great lengths to teach their children proper manners. However, I’m forced to wonder if kids actually get the message beyond the importance of not picking your nose when others are looking.

WILL: MOM! MOM! Make me a sandwich! MOM!

MOM: Will, what do we say?

WILL: Mom, you fat slob! Hurry up with my sandwich!

MOM: What do we say when we want a favor?

WILL: Hurry up you fat slob, please?

MOM: Good boy. And what do we say after someone gives you something?

WILL: Maybe you could have done it faster if you took your fat rolls out of your ears, but thank you.

MOM: That’s right, we say thank you. And how was school today?

WILL: Pretty good. We made sand art, but you’re probably not familiar with that. You don’t have very much time outside of the kitchen.

MOM: WILL! You’re being very rude!

WILL: Thank you?

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The Ocean Room on the Royal Ferdinand

30 Apr

(On a high-end cruise in the Mediterranean, three aged women, Agnes, Dorothea, and Minnie, are enjoying lunch.)

MINNIE: (to waiter): I’ll have the tuna club.

WAITER: Ok.

MINNIE: But can we lose the onions and mayonnaise, and get tomato and lettuce? Also, I’m going to need turkey instead of tuna on the sandwich.

THEODORA: Don’t forget the bread!

MINNIE: Ah yes. I want that on rosemary focaccia instead of rye.

WAITER: So, a turkey club on focaccia?

MINNIE: Are you acting fresh? Can I please speak to a manager?

WAITER: I’m sorry. And you two ladies?

AGNES: We’ll share a side salad.

WAITER: Any dressing? We have ranch, bleu, vinaigrette, Caesar, creamy asiago, butternut squash, spicy jalapeño…

AGNES: What was the first one?

WAITER: Ranch.

AGNES: We’ll share that on the side.

WAITER: You can’t share dressing.

MINNIE: May I please speak to the maitre d’?

 

(The threesome spies their waiter tending to another party in the restaurant.)

 

AGNES: Do you have any idea when our food will come out?

WAITER: Any second now. I just saw it in the kitchen.

THEODORA: Well, that group over there arrived seven minutes later than we did. And they’re being served now.

WAITER: Your food will be here shortly. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.

MINNIE: I’m frankly appalled with the treatment we’ve received today. We paid good money for a luxury cruise experience!

WAITER: I’m very sorry. Is there anything I can do until the food comes?

MINNIE: I’d like to see the owner, please.

WAITER: Well, the captain is steering the ship. He can’t come to the dining rooms.

MINNIE: I said, get me the captain!

 

(A manager arrives at the table, with the waiter nipping at his heels, head held shamefully low.)

 

MANAGER: I hear there have been some miscommunications. Would you care to air your grievances?

MINNIE: We have been waiting literally hours to receive our food. That table came after us, and they’ve already eaten.

MANAGER: Well, that group only ordered soup, and they are the owners of the cruise line.

AGNES: Why should they get special treatment? We’re paying good money for this meal.

MANAGER: I understand. Dessert is on me.

MINNIE: YOU CAN”T BRIBE US WITH YOUR LADY FINGERS! They’re so dry!

MANAGER: Please don’t raise your voice. Look, here comes the food. Is there anything else I can do?

THEODORA: Forget the food. We’ve lost our appetite.

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Allergies

26 Apr

CHARLIE: Good morning! Oh wow, your eyes are so red.

WALTER (calmly): Allergies.

CHARLIE (curious): You sure? They look so puffy. I think they’re oozing.

WALTER: Nope. Just allergies.

CHARLIE (concerned): Do you realize your nose is bleeding profusely?

WALTER: You know, pollen.

CHARLIE: Your hair is falling out! Go to a doctor!

WALTER: I guess the Claritin didn’t work. What’re you gonna do?

CHARLIE: Please, go to a hospital! You’re so jaundiced.

WALTER: It’s just allergies, man! Calm down.

CHARLIE: Oh my God! You’re coughing up blood! I’ll get the nurse!

WALTER: No need. I heard the pollen count is really high this week. (He collapses.)

CHARLIE: You legitimately have ebola. Don’t touch me!

WALTER: Allergies!

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