Archive for the ‘humor’ Category

Santa vs. Jesus

"You want a piece of me, Santa?"

Two giant Christmas icons.  Is there room in this commercially-overblown holiday for both of them?

I think not.

"Bring it."

Let’s have it out.  Two go in — only one comes out.

Let’s compare them to see who will win:

Union Affiliation

Santa:  Teamsters

"It'll be ready next Tuesday."

Jesus:  Carpenters

Advantage: Santa


Santa:  Saint Nicholas was from Myra in Asia Minor (Turkey).  Somehow he made ended up in Lapland near the North Pole.  Ability to survive extreme heat or cold?  Fuhgeddaboutit.

Jesus:  Was from Galilee, but born in a hut in Judea.  He was known to pass through Samaria without even looking back over his shoulder.  Hung with prostitutes and thieves.  Called out the Romans and the Pharisees.  Death?  Doesn’t scare him, he’ll be back.

Advantage: Jesus Continue reading


Dear Santa, I have grievances.

Hi, my name is Island Boy.  No one takes me seriously.  While it’s true that I am only five years old, I have much to offer the world in terms of leadership.

Well, maybe not so much leadership.  I guess you’d really call it bossiness.

Anyway, when I get really mad at my mom and dad (like when they tell me to pick up my toys or to take a shower), I threaten to call the police.  At times like this, they just laugh at me.

I know I have a legit basis for a complaint to the cops — they’re being really mean to me.

The problem is that I don’t actually know any members of the local law enforcement community.  But, if I did… Continue reading


Okay, I didn’t mean to brain my asshole brother-in-law.  But, sometimes some people just need a braining.

When I stepped in the abode after pulling a double shift, there he was.  Drinking my gin (the good one I hide in the back of the freezer behind my wife’s soy, veggie burgers — the “Southwest Style” ones), watching my flat-screen, and sitting in my favorite couch-spot.  I let the first three slide off me like Rain-X fleeing off your windshield if you drive fast enough.

It was that bestial braying sound that passes in his life for a laugh that made me pull up short. Continue reading

Of Captivity, Frustration, and Liberation on the East Side of the Keyboard

The shackles of my oppression

Hello, readers.  It’s been awhile.

He’s grown bored with the blog.

No, he hasn’t.  He finally decided to treat his broken right ring finger.

Some of you may remember that what began as an attempt to impress Running Girl at a rest stop in Minnesota on August 13, ended in pain and embarrassment (read here).  Then came two months of manly, it’ll get better all on its own bravado.

How’d that work out for you, Major?

Well, I’ll show you: Continue reading

Meet the Cats

I have been repeatedly accused of hating cats.

Once again, I do not hate cats.  I just hate these cats.

Placing my feelings aside, I have decided to introduce you to the cats of Kay Nou.


Name: Sarah

Age: I’m thinking about 11 (how long do these animals live anyway?).

Sex: Female (doesn’t really matter as there ain’t nothing going on).

Body type: Getting skinnier (a combo of purging and being a victim of food theft by the other cat). Continue reading

Help me out with this one.

It’s 7:58 p.m., and my car touches down in my driveway.  In the garage, I open my door.  Before my Allen Edmunds lace-ups hit the ground, the across-the-street neighbor is calling my name and entering my garage.  Apparently, he has been stalking waiting for my arrival all night.

I’m in a suit.  I’m carrying a briefcase.  I’m sure I look like I haven’t been home since the sun arose.

But, neighbor dude blows right through all that.  He’s needs something.

Back up a couple of months.  “Donnie” (not really his name — duh, he’s my neighbor) has been leaving little gifts for Island Boy in my garage.  In reality, Donnie has been cleaning out his own garage. Continue reading

The Ramp

With my job change, I am experiencing another new phenomenon: the multi-storied parking garage.

In WNY, colloquially, it is called a ramp.  When I first moved here, I really didn’t know what people were talking about when they used that term.

Now here I am, working in the heart of downtown, sharing common ground with a thousand of my fellow commuters.  In the words of the immortal Bart of Springfield, I’m livin’ it.  But, I ain’t lovin’ it. Continue reading