Sit Down Comedy … November 9th, 2018

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Instagrammar for Instagram

It seems appropriate to catch up the American lingo with the times instead of having it linger in the past with moldy ideas. So instead of referring to things like “Self Worth” may I give you the new Instagrammar:

1. Selfie Worth:  Taking a picture while traveling through Fort Worth

2. Selfie Motivation:  Developing a plot line to energize the shot

3. Selfie Awareness: Picking an angle where your nose doesn’t look so big

4. Selfie Destruction:  Delete, delete and again I say, DELETE

5. Selfie Less:  Not so much smiling

6. Selfie Fish:  Shooting the perfect pic near the beach

7. Selfie Deception:  Convinced you have lost weight because the snapshot only has half of your face

8. Selfie Denial:  Patiently waiting until after your grandma’s funeral before posing again

9. Selfie Realization:  Fewer pics in congested traffic around grouchy cops

10. Selfie Centered:  Finding the perfect headroom

 

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3 Things … November 8th, 2018

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That Let You Know Things Are Changing

1. You spend most of your time working on improving yourself.

 

2. People look better to you than cats and dogs.

 

3. You pass up an obvious chance to be critical.


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Drawing Attention … November 7th, 2018

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Faith Is

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art by smarrttie panntts

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Published in: on November 7, 2018 at 1:23 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Cring & Clazzy … November 6th, 2018

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It appears that somewhere between the heart and the spirit, there is a desert. So dry is this place that people convince themselves it is impossible to cross the expanse from what we feel to what we believe. Some folks just feel, and others are convinced that believing is enough.

No sermon will ever make the journey.

No education is capable of spanning the region.

And no amount of prayer will ever take our feelings to what we believe.

There is only one passageway, and one alone.

It is the electricity and energy that transforms our feelings into a union with our beliefs.

It is called music.

And there is nothing to compare.


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1 Thing You Can Do This Week (To Become a Better Person)

1 Thing You Can Do This Week (To Become a Better Person)

 

JUST ADMIT YOU ARE PREJUDICED

Being prejudiced just means that we see things in color, shape, size, style, gender and even finance.

But when it comes to matters of the heart, seeing is not believing. All of us believe things which our eyeballs tell us are different.

The importance of admitting prejudice is to prevent ourselves from becoming bigots, and end up racists.

HIDDEN PREJUDICE IS THE PROBLEM

Just because I see a man who is a different color than myself does not mean I feel that I am better than him, and I certainly do not want to act superior, because then, I will try to find a way to hurt him, which will make me a racist.

America will become free of its racial, cultural, spiritual and gender bias just as soon as we realize that our eyes still see what is set before us.

However, we don’t need to believe what we see, or hold what we see to be sacred.

I am prejudiced.

I still see fat, I still see youth, I still see old, I still see color–but because I admit it, I can confront myself and realize it doesn’t make any difference–and certainly doesn’t make me superior to anyone else on the planet.

Therefore I feel no need to hurt them to make myself look powerful.

So there’s your one thing–if every human being in America would admit they are still haunted by prejudice, we would do away with bigotry in a generation, and racism even quicker.

 

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Jubilators … November 4th, 2018

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Jubilators

Sitting Nine

Park It

Fenswick Park was only two blocks from Harry Ventner’s home.

It was named in honor of George Robert Fenswick, who donated the money for the parcel of land from his fortune, derived by manufacturing rubber bands. A trust was also provided for upkeep, bi-annual improvementsand the yearly Rubber Band Half Marathon.

Harry was in a hurry. He gulped down the smoothie his mother had prepared for breakfast, begged to be excused and then ran out the door toward the park, barely hearing his mother’s final request, “Be back for lunch!”

Ever since awakening an hour earlier, he had been thinking about heading for the park to try to fulfill the dream he had had the previous night, which encompassed his thoughts.

Such a dream. It was about the North Pole, Santa Claus, his beard, and a great race. For such an endeavor, he would need to immediately begin training. After all, sometimes dreams come true. And he would have to know how to run one mile if he was going to run two.

Likewise, Shanisse Martinez arose early. So early that her mother yelled at her and told her to go back to bed. Rather than complying, Shanisse grabbed two of her favorite board games, meticulously counted the pieces to make sure everything was in proper order, and then sat in a big, leather chair near her desk, staring up at the ceiling fan, waiting for the time she could finally leave her room and head off to find the location for her board game extravaganza, which would include thousands—maybe millions—of people, in pursuit of sharing grilled cheese and tomato soup with Mr. S. Claus.

This had been her last night’s dream.

Not certain exactly where to head, Shanisse took off four blocks down the road, to the largest open area she knew. Fenswick Park.

Golda Linski awakened, enlivened by a dream, sitting straight up in her bed, with the lyrics of a Broadway tune from a musical named North Pole rumbling around in her head, begging to be sung.

North, north, north

We must go

To a land filled

With ice and snow

South, south, south

Bring the toys

To all good little

Girls and boys.

East, east, east

Hop the sleigh

Fly with Santa

For just today

West, west, west

Chase the star

Never complain

About how far

She was breathless–inspired. She was compelled by a force beyond herself to write a tribute to the North Pole. Never before had she considered writing a song of her own. She was completely satisfied to sing the tunes of other musical greats, but now, suddenly, she was a composer. The subject sacred to her soul—Santa Claus, North Pole, elves, reindeer, throw in a little Star of Bethlehem and baby in a crib to satisfy the adults. Then she would step into her role as Marjorie Claus, the secret benefactor and inspiration of all things Christmas.

She quickly ate a bowl of Rice Krispies, which seemed to add a percussive background to her creative thoughts. Snap! Crackle! Pop! She was so preoccupied that her mother was concerned that she might be ill. But Ms. Linski, the aspiring poet, musical genius-in-training, and the soon-to-be toast of Broadway, was feeling quite fine.

She headed out the door as her mother told her to return by one o’clock that afternoon. Golda needed a place to focus so she could write. Where could she go? All at once she remembered that Fenswick Park had constructed a big pole in the ground, where they hoped to someday build a complete playground. Perfect. She needed a pole. It would remind her of its Northern counterpart. So off to Fenswick Park she went, loudly singing her new song, her first song—the opening song of a musical which would set the world on fire, ablaze with the good cheer of the Christmas season.

Shanisse sat down at a picnic table setting up both of her board games, trying to figure out how much space would be necessary for forty thousand of them, all over a huge stadium.

As she tried to concentrate, a little boy came running by, over and over again. Each time he flew by her position, he screeched, “Swish, swish, one, two, three… Get that beard!”

The words were so full of nonsense that Shanisse was distracted, and soon accidentally did something that had never happened before in her life. She took the shoe piece from her Monopoly game and accidentally laid it on the Sorry gameboard next to it. She was mortified. How could she have done such a thing?

“Pardon me,” she said to the Sorry board.

“I will return your shoe,” she apologized to Monopoly.

Then there he was again. “Swish, swish, one, two, three… Get that beard.”

In a fit of fury, Shanisse reached out and grabbed the little runner, bringing him to an unexpected halt. She whirled him around, looked into his flushed face and screamed, “What are you doing, crazy boy?”

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Harry replied, “I’m in training. So I must train.”

He tried to wiggle from her grasp, but Shanisse held on tightly.

“You made me put my shoe on the Sorry board.”

Harry gave her a confused squint. “Sorry…”

“It’s a board game! You know? Have you ever played one?”

“What I meant was, I’m sorry…I, uh, confused you,” he said sincerely.

“Why are you running?” asked Shanisse.

“I’m training for a race. A great race. The greatest race.” Harry was so elated to finally share with someone who might actually understand, since she was sitting at a picnic table setting up board games in the early morning light.

“What race?” inquired Shanisse.

“You haven’t heard about it because it hasn’t been thought of yet, except in my dream, where it was not just an idea, but an actual happening. But of course, dreams don’t really work out unless you can take them and make them real. Am I right?”

Harry paused. So did Shanisse.

“I had a dream, too,” she said.

“Was it about a race?” questioned Harry.

“No. It was the world’s biggest board game tournament with nearly everybody alive—at least everyone who still wants to have fun—and the prize…Well, the prize…”

Harry interrupted Shanisse.

“The prize in my race is to get three hairs from the beard of Santa Claus so I can save the reindeer from being sent to Lapland.”

Shanisse huffed. “You interrupted me. The prize in my contest is lunch at the North Pole with Santa Claus.”

“Cool,” said Harry.

Just then, another young girl walked up to them. “Do you know where that big pole is that they stuck in the ground?” she inquired.

“What big pole?” asked Shanisse.

Harry jumped in. “I think she’s talking about that tall pole out near the wooded area, where they’re going to build some sort of jungle gym or something. I don’t know the details.”

“That sounds right, ” said the girl.

“Why do you need a pole?” asked Shanisse.

“Can you keep a secret?” replied the girl.

Both Harry and Shanisse nodded their heads emphatically.

“My name is Golda—Golda Linski.”

Shanisse countered. “Oh, I almost forgot! My name is Shanisse Martinez.”

Golda continued. “Remember my name. You’re going to need to know it someday when they interview you on television about the first time you met the great playwright and composer.”

“Who?” asked Harry.

“Me! I am going to write a Broadway musical. You want to hear part of it?”

Golda didn’t wait for their consent. She launched into the words of her new song. She was right in the middle of the “west” part when Shanisse interrupted.

“How can a little girl write a musical for Broadway?”

“Yeah. Or…how can a little girl think she’s gonna put together a board game for thousands of people in this park?” sneered Harry.

“I like board games,” shared Golda.

“I like musicals,” agreed Shanisse.

“I don’t like either,” cited Harry.

“So who shouldn’t be here?” said Shanisse, with a sly smile.

“I don’t want to be here,” replied Harry. “I’m training.”

Golda turned to Shanisse. “What’s he training for?”

“He’s training for a great race to the North Pole, to…I don’t know. Why don’t you explain it to her?” Shanisse turned to Harry.

“I already explained this once,” said Harry, annoyed. “I have to race to the North Pole as quickly as I can to take three hairs out of the beard of Santa Claus and bring them back so the reindeer won’t be shipped off to Lapland.”

“Where’s Lapland?” asked Golda.

“I don’t know. It was just what the guy said in my dream,” replied Harry, shrugging.

“Hold on a second!” said Shanisse. “Let me get this straight. I had a dream. This boy had a dream…”

“My name’s Harry,” he inserted.

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” said Golda.

“Don’t interrupt my deep reasoning,” said Shanisse, scolding the pair.

“Yes, mother,” said Golda sarcastically.

“Where was I?” mused Shanisse. “Oh, yes. I had a dream. Harry had a dream. And you had a dream.”

“Golda Linski. I told you to remember the name. You can probably sell an interview to the Daily Post.”

“Right,” said Shanisse, deep in thought.

“Well, I already told you I had a dream—about writing a Broadway musical,” added Golda.

Harry scratched his head. “So I don’t get it. What’s the point?”

Shanisse looked at the pair in front of her. “Well, I may be the youngest of the three of us…”

Harry interrupted. “I’m eleven.”

“Well, I’m twelve,” said Golda with some gusto.

“As I said,” continued Shanisse. “I am the youngest of the three of us—ten and-a-half but darned close to eleven—but I’m putting it all together. We all three had dreams. Last night?”

She paused for a response. Harry and Golda nodded in agreement.

Shanisse continued with great authority. “We all three had dreams. They all had something to do with Santa Claus. And look at us. We’ve all ended up here at the same park on the same morning, having never met each other before in our entire lives.”

“So? What’s your point?” Harry said, bewildered.

“My point it that Dream World is trying to bring us together!” said Shanisse.

“Is there such a thing as Dream World?” asked Golda.

“I don’t know. You come up with a name for it,” countered Shanisse.

“I will admit it’s a little freaky, but it’s like my Uncle Jackson once said. ‘One person’s miracle is another person’s lucky penny.'” Harry stood back proudly with his proclamation.

The two girls paused and then turned to Harry and wailed in unison, “What?”

“What I mean,” explained Harry, “is that maybe it was just one of those things.”

“Or…maybe it’s a thing that only has one,” said Shanisse.

“Oooh, that’s deep,” admired Golda.

“Deep in stinky-poo dumb,” said Harry as he turned away from them and walked over to the bench to look at the game boards.

“Stay away from there!” said Shanisse sharply.

“Why?” demanded Harry. “You said there was gonna be a whole bunch of people playing these games.”

“But not yet,” objected Shanisse. “I’m still thinking through the thoughts.”

“I know what you mean,” said Golda. “Words keep popping into my mind but they just don’t want to glue together to bloom my second song.”

“Are you two joining together to pick on me?” questioned Harry.

“No,” said Shanisse. “Don’t be such a…boy.”

Suddenly Golda sat down on the ground, put her elbows on her knees and both of her hands under her chin, as if deep in thought. Harry and Shanisse stared at her for a moment and then joined her in the seated position. Golda just hummed.

Harry turned to Shanisse and quietly said, “What do you think she’s doing?”

“Humming,” replied Shanisse.

“I know that,” said Harry. “Why do you think she’s humming?”

“I’m trying to get some music with the universe, so we can stop our arguing and see if there’s a reason why we suddenly are together,” said Golda in an other world voice.

“So you feel it, too!” said Shanisse.

“I do,” she replied simply.

“Then I do, too,” said Harry, not wanting to be left out.

They sat for a long time—at least, it seemed to be a long time in the realm of the minds of those who are too young to want any time to pass without a thrill.

Finally Golda spoke. “I think I’ve got it.” She pointed at Harry. “You had a dream about Santa Claus.”

He nodded. She pointed at Shanisse. “You had a dream about board games, but the prize was time with Santa Claus.”

“I guess so,” Shanisse responded.

“And of course, I had a dream about writing the best musical ever—which involves…” She held out her hand, waiting for them to respond.

“Singers?” offered Harry.

“No!” said Golda impatiently. “Santa Claus.”

“So…we all share Santa Claus in common?” surmised Shanisse.

“Yes, I think so,” said Golda.

Harry jumped to his feet. “This is getting spooky! All I know is that I’m supposed to train for a race!”

Shanisse also got to her feet and walked over to the table with her board games. “Well, all I know is that I’m supposed to plan this huge competition with board games.”

Golda remained seated. “Calm down. I have to write my musical, too. But you can’t miss what’s happening now by thinking about what may happen next.”

Harry was about to run off, but instead put his hands on his hips and replied, “So what’s going on here?”

“I don’t know,” said Shanisse. “Remember? I’m only ten.”

“So now you choose to act like the baby,” replied Golda.

“I know this is going to sound weird,” said Harry slowly. “But for the first time in my life, it might be nice to have a grown-up here to help us figure this out.”

 

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Cracked 5 … November 3rd, 2018


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The Main Reasons for the Existence of the Month of November

A. Purging turkeys

 

B. Including dressing and cranberry sauce into family squabbles

 

C. Overwrought arguments about Christmas

 

D. Evidence that all leaves will not be raked

 

E.  Rhymes with “September” in the 30-day song

 

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