Biff Sock Pow

Finding the humor in everyday life.

Archive for the category “humor”

Absinthe-Soaked Goat Rampages Through Art Show

 

16289-old-goat-design

Police are Canvasing the Area.

EPA declares it Superfund site.

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This is Day Two of my experiment in outrageous blog post titles.  The response to yesterday’s experiment was underwhelming, to say the least.  If my readership drops any lower, I will be in negative territory, which means, I suppose, that anti-readers from other dimensions will be unreading my posts.  It’s nice to know that I will be a minor celebrity in an alternate dimension, but that doesn’t really do me much good in this dimension.

Well, as long as you’re here, I may as well tell you about my day.  My normal Friday joie de vivre was marred by the appearance a few days ago of what is either a mild cold or severe allergies.  It is hard to tell and really the differences are piddling.  When one is sneezing every 15 seconds, using up entire boxes of Kleenex in just a few hours, and contemplating jamming drinking straws up into my sinuses to aid in breathing, one doesn’t stop to ponder the subtleties between a cold and hay fever.

 

And one has to be careful how one declares what one has.  If you’re at work and say, “I have a cold,” one is instantly a pariah and is shunned by one and by all.  But if you get on an elevator sneezing and say something like, “Boy howdy!  (achoo!)  These allergies (achoo!) are killing me! (achoo!)“, you’re likely to get a sympathetic nod and perhaps even some commiseration.  If the exact same scene is acted out, but with the word “cold” substituted for “allergies”, the other occupant of the elevator will be repeatedly pushing the “door open” button and pounding on the door screaming “Let me out!  Let me out!  For the love of all that is good and decent, open these doors!”  The looks you get will not be sympathetic, but withering and condemning.  I would become known as Typhoid Biff.  My stock value in the company would fall.

Other than that, it was an ordinary Friday.  I shuffled through my duties at work … well … dutifully.  Because neither my heart nor my sinuses were really into it.   And since taking hearty glugs directly from a Nyquil bottle are frowned upon at work, I had to wait until I got home to self-medicate.

So, from my Nyquil induced haze to yours, I wish you a wonderful evening and a fantastic weekend.

 

 

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Pope Breaks Clavicle in Bizarre Curling Accident

Condition of Mitre Unknown

mitre-svg.

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My experiment in using titular alliteration (if you’ll pardon the expression) in order to boost visits and reads ended in abysmal failure.  Readership actually dropped.  I can only assume that means people are very antipathetic towards alliteration, and possibly all forms of verbal trickery, up to and including onomatopoeia.  Bang!  There .. I said it.  I went there.

Anyway, in a new experiment to boost readership and views (all in the name of science, of course), I am taking a new tack.  That is, I plan to take a page out of the National Enquirer’s playbook and go with eye-catching, lurid, outrageous titles.  The downside, of course, is that the body of the post will having nothing at all to do with the title.  But you know, no system is perfect.  I mean, just look at the solar system.  It is completely riddled with flaws.  That whole Pluto-isn’t-a-planet thing … what a debacle!  I am pretty sure heads rolled at the Department of Planetary Nomenclature.  Or, if not heads, certainly eyes did!

To prevent panic among curling enthusiasts, I should point out that the Pope did not actually break his clavicle whilst curling since he was primarily a sweeper.  I’ll keep you informed on breaking news regarding his mitre.

 

 

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