Me: Check this out. It’s a grey and brown hair. But look – the brown bit is not the end, it’s the root.
He: Hang on, let me have a look in the light.
A pause, while he inspects the hair in question and verifies my outlandish claim.
He: It seems you are ungreying. Or perhaps turning brindle.
We both turn to look at our brindle dog. Her brown eyes remain inscrutable.
Curmudgeon: Imagine how strange it would be if the word ‘bet’ was spelled like the word ‘debt’.
While riding to work this morning, we went past a tradie van plastered with a silly company name.
Me: That’s stupid. You can’t just add ‘time’ to the name of your product to get your company name. Imagine if you were ‘Booktime Books’. Or ‘Treatment Time Doctors’.
He: What about ‘Lunchtime’ for a cafe? That works.
Me: ‘Lunchtime Lunches’? LAME. Or ‘Deathtime Funerals’. Hey, you know, given that the opportunities for punning are on par with hairdressers and Thai restaurants, I think it’s time that there were more hilarious funeral parlour names. If you got hit by a bus and I had to plan your funeral, I’d always choose a punny name over a wafty dreary white-dove sort of name because that’s what you’d want.
He: Like what?
Me: How about ‘Death Warmed Up?’ Hahahhahahahah.
He: *groan*
Me: Can’t you see the ads? Swanky funeral, people grieving in a satisfied-customer sort of way, someone says, “Looks like Death Warmed Up.”
He: How about ‘Keep Your Urn’.
Me: Oooh, I like that one. It’s a slow-burner. Or how about a concept crematorium? Doubles as a pizza oven so catering for the wake is sorted?
He: I don’t think that would work.
Me: Yep, the oven would be too hot for pizza. But it would put the fun back into funerals! How about ‘Good Grief’? Or ‘A Tisket, a Tasket, I want an Open Casket?’
He: I’ve got to get to work. *zips off down the road, grateful for the respite*
Me: Dearly departed.
My list:
His list:
Your turn. Go on, put a bird on it.
I was carrying some stuff to work that didn’t quite fit in my bag. I set it on the cafe table while I waited for my coffee to arrive.
When it did, the waitress asked, “Fish for lunch?”
“Have you already had a sausage in this election?”
– the question they really should ask at the polling booth
Did you vote? We did. Muddy wooden floors, blunt pencils, recycled ballot boxes with new instructions scribbled in texta over the top of the federal election rules, dog yelping from her post tied up outside. Paper cuts from fighting off the people handing out how-to-vote cards.
Earlier this morning:
He: If you were a Muppet, which one would you be?
Me: You mean which one I look like, or which one has the same personality as me?
He: That you look like.
Me: I don’t know…
He: How about Big Bird?
Me: Why? Because I’m tall and hippy? Rude man.
Me: What’s the difference between an abcess, a boil and a cyst?
Him: An abscess makes the heart grow fonder while a watched boil never pops….
Me: *groan*
Him: …and cysters are doing it for themselves.
The largest miniature world in the world sounds like a pretty low-rent tourist attraction to me.
This was at the end of the foolish running-about the Curmudgeon did this morning. He raced against Puffing Billy who is, according to his link there, Australia’s favourite team train. Puffing Billy won. Insert bad puns here: you can choose from one about the train being chuffed, about it blowing smoke up its own arse, about it having high self-esteam…. when offered these puns to choose from, the Curmudgeon replied, “I don’t know, but you’re on the right track.”
You haven’t seen funny until you’ve seen the Curmudgeon perform his one-minute version of Waiting for Godot in the style of The Young Ones.
He can even make Mike funny. Not even Mike could do that.
livebird 