~ Erma Bombeck

~ George Eliot

We were dining at Texas Roadhouse when I jokingly scolded my son: “It’s not nice to throw your nuts at the ladies.”

My husband looked at me with shock and tried not to laugh. I smiled sweetly. My son, aged ten, began to vibrate and flail in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “You wait until the coast is clear - like this…” I peeled a peanut and tossed the shell on the floor.

“Mom! I didn’t know you had nuts!”

“My nuts are bigger than your nuts,” I bragged, shelling a particularly large peanut.

“Ewww, you just ate your nuts!” my son squealed.

“Watch out, I’ll--” bite my tongue and think twice before finishing that sentence, I thought. Arguably, it’s up to the adults to teach young folks decent public behavior. “Food’s here now, settle down,” I said, grateful for quick service and quantities of food guaranteed to curtail conversation for a few minutes.

“What has four wheels and flies?” asked William, holding a burger in one hand and stuffing cheese fries in his mouth with the other.

I held up a finger and raised an eyebrow while I finished chewing and swallowing. “I don’t know,” I answered, “what?”

“A garbage truck!” He laughed so hard I was afraid he’d slam his face down in the ketchup.

What is it about little boys and stinky, smelly, ugly, rotten, nasty, icky, gross, slimy, creepy, crawly things? For that matter, what is it about little boys and spitting? Here in Texas, it’s common to see a man driving a truck throw open the door at a red light, lean halfway out of the truck, and spit on the pavement. I think they’re convinced that if enough of them deposit spit on the asphalt, it’ll fill in the potholes, harden up in the heat, and save the taxpayers a ton of money. But the fascination with spit starts long before a boy is old enough to try tobacco or develop the sort of civic-mindedness required to worry about potholes in the road. You can keep a boy busy for hours if you stick him on a bridge, a balcony, or a seawall and let him spit. So much the better if there are pedestrians--er, targets--down below. (Here’s a hot tip for you boys: When Mom says “What in Pete’s name are you doing?” answer “Studying terminal velocity.” Do not say “Spittin’ off the bridge.” Convince Mom it’s a scientific “learning experience” and everyone will be happier. Grab yourself a piece of sandstone and jot down numbers on the bridge, as if you’re actually recording the seconds between “hock tooey!” and “splat!”)

Boys also gravitate towards weapons at a young age. Spit and paper become deadly projectiles when paired with a straw. Girls and long-necked teachers with bobbing Adam’s apples and horn-rimmed glasses are favorite targets. When they are not engaged in the art of warfare, boys can be heard indulging in musical pursuits - making razzberries and armpit noises and playing air-guitar.

All this unselfconsciousness can be baffling to girls. “Do I look okay?” his sister will ask.

“Yeah, I guess,” answers William, not looking up from his video game.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

“No.”

Her eyes well up with tears and she runs to her room. What she doesn’t understand is that her little brother couldn’t care less what she wears and thinks “pretty” is irrelevant - she’s his sister. He loves her and he is sometimes aggravated by her, and no amount of flattery or insults is going to change a thing between them. He loves us girls just the way we are - from our stinky athletic shoes to our comfy old t-shirts to our un-made-up faces, and he is just as baffled that his sister doesn’t get it.

Written on the left wall:

Written on the right wall:

That could keep you going for a while! From “The Writings on the Stall (Women’s)” at http://www.thewritingsonthestall.com/women/.

Claims to be actual bathroom humor from the walls of Microsoft stalls:
http://www.netjeff.com/humor/item.cgi?file=ms.graffiti.txt

Stairway to…Nowhere? This one’s hardly potty humor, but it is an example of clever, artistic graffiti demonstrating a warped sense of humor.
http://www.thehumorarchives.com/humor/0001388.html

This collection of gross-out verse and lyrics was compiled by an online friend, author Josepha Sherman, back in 1995. I remember her asking the members of Writers’ Ink for contributions dredged from childhood memory. Mine? I had only to hum the tune to “The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,” and my mom (who suffered from an ulcer) would stick her head in the toilet. Such power should never be entrusted to ten-year-olds…

My son is a huge fan of Dav Pilkey and the Captain Underpants series. I’ll add my limited endorsement under the “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” theory of getting a child to love reading. I don’t object to the potty humor so much as to the misspellings in Pilkey’s characters’ hand-drawn cartoon. If you’re going to read about poop, at least learn to spell it properly…

Not necessarily comedic, but have fun with this one. Be creative. Hey, food can be funny…

I must be hungry. Are you sensing a theme, here? I’m including this because the possibilities are endless, and it’s open to all genres. Let’s see some comedy! (And if you do enter comedy, be sure to submit your entries to the newsletter, too.)

Ahh, here’s a contest to tickle your funny bone (and your readers’) - open to poetry and short (very short) stories.

The StoryMaster (on sending me a reminder that this issue of my newsletter was due): “I won’t worry about you on this.”

I love gravestone humor. You missed some good ones:

Here lies Anna,
Done to death by a banana
It wasn't the fruit made her go,
But the skin of the thing that laid her low!

Here lies Tommy Yeast, pardon me for not rising.

Aren't these awesome?!! I want something like that on my tombstone!
DF

I would never have thunk it of ya, Dog Freek. Seems kind of, ever so slightly, irreverent.

Tigger thinks of Prancer

Thanks for the great laugh!! I'll need to check out some of the highlighted items when I have the opportunity (ie not when I'm about to be running late for work... again)

Miss_JoJo

Holly,

Excellent newsletter, as always - it never fails to make me laugh, even if this time your subject matter strays towards the grave. Keep it up!
Jo

We use 'black humor' in the hospital everyday. It is the only way to face the horror we can see.

Vivian

Jessie, I know I don't always send feedback after reading one of your newsletters, but I always read them and enjoy them. You have a way of inserting humor in some of the oddest circumstances. ~~

Well, if not me - who? Thanks, Viv!