Tag Archives: funny

Things To Say To Your Mom If She Pretends She Doesn’t Know Who You Are

Mothers come in all different stinks and shapes, but the one thing they all have in common is their legal right to your ideas and body. A burden like that is tough for most mares to bare so it’s not uncommon to encounter one taking a well-deserved break by imagining that their spawn does not exist. As their creation, you can either accept this and go find a grandmother to cry on, or you can have a little fun and attempt to get her to crack like those guards in England who aren’t allowed to so much as glance, let alone nibble, at the savoury seeds thrown their way by eager tourists.

Here are things you can say to your mom when this natural phenomenon occurs (usually after a heavy twilight rainfall – beauty breeds beasts eh?):

Excuse me, are you my sister? You look like me, talk like me, and my picture is on your apron.

I studied mothers in university and you’re definitely mine.

I have 10 seconds to live so if you don’t stop being stupid this will be your last memory of me.

Look out behind you, it’s your son. Nope, hahahah he’s right here, it’s me.

What’s for dinner tonight, mom? Oh, this thing again? I see. Guess that means we’re having clams. Great, I love your clams, thank you mom.

Mom, I need your help, so please listen. I’ve been pranking Uncle Robert and for the next phase I need you to ask him bring his good computer over to our house, so stop pretending I am not yours and call your brother.

Lady, you kind of look like me – would you mind pretending to be my mother? I need to show my parole officer that I’m capable of love, even though I’m not hehehe.

I know you love The Matrix, but there’s an easier way to pretend you’re a whole different person: get zits!

 

How To Read A Book

What are books? 

Books are stiff magazines that take raw hubris and stamp it onto thin, inedible wafers. There are well over one hundred books ever made.

Each book contains a unique combination of runes that when decoded by a  human sense can do many amazing things but cannot help one achieve everlasting life unless the spell within is effective. Besides spells, a book can tell a story about real or fake people, animals, towns or sports, and can even tell you how much pepper to add to suet to make it palatable to orphans.

How do you read a book?

Books stamped in English are read from left to right. Asking “why?” is like asking why a clown’s nose is red: it’s easy to explain and most people would leap at the opportunity to do so.

Reading English left to right mimics the voyage of the brigantine “Heart Reaper” as it made its way across the equator teaching remote societies an economical new language, while gathering fresh mullet in its holds to feed the insatiable King Cody the Beautiful. Prior to the voyage the direction books were read was up to the reader leading to mass confusion, including the popular misconception that the best way to greet someone was by saying, “Meet Hello, I’m what you aren’t.” Following months of petty arguments aboard the ship concerning the ending of the only book available (the book’s hero, the Runt, did indeed slay the Master Piper), Captain Adam recommended to the Council a standardization that would honour his voyage.

Now to the clowns. The noses we know today were the product of a dispute between two rival factions within a long forgotten circus troupe. One side was confident that round red noses would appeal to children because they resemble apples, the era’s top selling candy. Another felt fashion was the answer and pushed for something pointier. They solved their dispute the way most circuses do: by setting out two piles of sausages representing each choice and having a snake slither to the most attractive pile. Some say one pile was spiked with fresh mint to entice the snake toward the red pile while others claim it’s nonsense created by the losing half to help deflect embarrassment.

A fashionable beak created by the pointies who went on to form a famous fashion house.

A book must first be opened to be read. Bottled up heat within the book’s meat (each slice called a “page”) will escape upon opening. If captured and run though a Thermoelectric generator, a reader can produce enough heat to incubate the egg of a small gull. A book is bound by a spine. Like any mammal, if the spine is severed, the book will perish.

Once you have a book, look at each word, remember it, then move onto the next word. When you see the low dot (a “period”) quickly analyze what all the previous words meant then move onto the next chunk.

What happens if you can’t read the whole book in one go?

If you do not finish the book you must somehow mark your progress so as to continue the next time your eyes need a snack. Some classical examples are:

Whispering the page number to a child and having them remember it in exchange for salt and jacks.

Baking the page number into a loaf.

Tattooing the page number onto yourself or a piece of hard fruit

Associating the page number with something familiar in your life. For example if I left off on page 254, I would link it to my memory of father making me smoke 254 cigars after I flat out refused to go into the family cigar business

What do you do after you finish a book?

If you are able to get to the end of the book, do not worry because there are other books. The one you just read is not the only book. Do not burn the book unless it was bad. Do not eat the book unless it is tasty.

New Song, New Year, New Christmas

Lemme hear you, Canada! Who out there got wires around they wrists hoping someone notices so you can say “It’s for my machines.” Alright, alright cool, I see you freaks and I love you!

Look, I made a new song for the 2019 holiday season and here is the result. It’s supposed to be funny but if it’s not then at least you have a nice little jam full of my signature guitar sound.

The glennmacaulay.com Style Guide

As a respected literary website, we’re always getting submissions from would-be comedians, aspiring scribes, and even railway tramps who’ve abandoned writing tall tales on the walls of boxcars with their own poo, with hopes of entering the digital age. Besides the obvious problem of forcing my scant staff of 57 interns who survive on a stipend of bread ends and unlimited candy canes to comb through thousands of submissions, the biggest issue we face is that very few are formatted properly.

In the past I’ve hesitated to make this style guide public but I recently had to turn down a promising Mark Twain spoof called “The Adventures of Tom Lawyer and Fuckleberry Hinn” because its formatting rendered it unreadable to my audience. To stop this from happening again, and from you wasting time that could be dedicated to planting bushes in funny places, I’ve copy and pasted an abridged version of the complete guide that covers the basics. If you’d like the complete version or if you’re currently working on a novel that you’d like to pitch to our Buck Fumble Books ‘n Calendars imprint, please sent a self-addressed, stamped envelope to:

345 Tree Street
Toronto, ON
O0O 0O1

Numbers

For numbers greater than ten, use figures, not words. If you need to know whether to use feminine or masculine terminology when describing a number, here is a cheat sheet:

1 – girl
2 – girl
3 – boy
4 -boy
5 – girl
6 – boy
7 – girl
8 – boy
9 – ??

To figure out the gender of numbers greater than nine containing one masculine and one feminine number, ask your parents.

If you’re planning on writing a number over 1,000,000,000  you must add an asterisk and corresponding footnote describing why you think there’s a number funnier or better.

Heights, weights, etc.

We use imperial units when talking about people, hens, gravy and anything purple (e.g. “The 12 foot woman snacked on the 40 pound hen while dabbing an ounce of iced gravy on her four inch, dark purple bruise (that she got when one of her students threw and apple at her (she’s a teacher)”).

For everything else we use the Canadian metric system, which is the same as the universal metric system except we have a unit of nothingness called a “nist”.

There is an exception for industry standards, e.g. we would never measure slop in kilograms but rather sacks.

Other

Only use exclamation points if your sentence has an explosion in it, or if you’re me. I’m the voice of the site and can yell whenever I want.

Never use the letter “b” unless you ask me for permission first! I don’t want to get into “hows? whats? whys? and whoas!” of it so let’s just say that it has something to do with what I thought was an empty promise to a woman I loved, stealthily overseen and notarized by a magistrate who held a grudge against my family because our frog farm put their toad shed out of business.

Whenever you use a word that features double letters, you must say out loud “double trouble!” You may be wondering how I’m able to enforce this rule but let’s just say the magistrate and I patched up our relationship. His legal knowledge, combined with strategically placed shrubbery in funny places, grants me the ability to move about this world unnoticed and ready to enforce the rules.

If you’re a freelance writer, please include a small tilde (˜) at the bottom right of every page, in honour of whoever this guy Lance was who apparently went to the slammer in order for writers to pitch stories to whoever they want. I’m not 100% sure that’s what “freelance” means, but the teenager who told me also taught me the code in Street Fighter that gives Dhalsim a Polo shirt and that was true.

And finally, be clear with your abbreviations! Don’t assume I know what you’re talking about. I was once about to publish what I thought was a hilarious diatribe against the hated Nut Bagel Alliance only to realize the author was actually talking about something called the National Basketball Association. I assumed the part about more “three pointers” was simply stating that nut bagel fans should abandon their favourite snack in favour of Doritos. And when they argued for more “slam dunks”, I found myself nodding at the thought of dunking a sesame bagel into a glass of almond milk, which makes way more sense than getting a bagel with almonds on it.

 

Facebook buttons of the future

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Here’s a post I did for work that’s not as abrasive as what I’d post here. Click anywhere to get. 

Embarrassing celebrity encounters

Reader Jake Zex’s embarrassing celebrity encounter is a bit longer than the usual “Ricki Lake barfed pickles at my church” type stories we feature, but it’s a good one regardless. Enjoy!

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My friend Jordem and I were at Goo Zoo in Chicago’s Wheat Sacking District, shooting the shit and discussing how expensive Goo Zoo’s signature shot, “the shit” is. My buddy kept nodding toward the Growing Pains pinball machine and muttering something about a guy who was “so plain”. I’m not one to to avert my gaze only to check out plains — I’m all about crazies, hair faces, nub noses and tit monsters so I ignored him.

At that point I was cross-eyed and drooling off several shots of shit, so my poisoned mind decided to reveal a big secret to Jordem, a secret I won’t fully reveal here but lets just say it involves a pumpkin-spiced bra. The bar was really loud at this point as DJ Cream Pie had started his set,  but Jordem appeared to understand the gist of the secret so I wrapped it up with an obligatory, “keep it on the DL”. He looked at me funny, glanced back toward the pinball machine then back to me and said “for real?”. I patted him on the back and told him not to quit his day job because I thought he was joking and the only people who joke are professional comedians who don’t need to work during the day because they work mostly at night in clubs. I then headed to the bathroom, danced all night with a Marine and his sister to Cream Pie’s Uptown Mega Mix and didn’t see Jord again until after the bar closed.

We ran into each other outside as Goo Zoo’s patrons were slowly filing onto the waiting barges. Jordem was drunker than King Henry after Merlin invented rum so I was scared that he had taken my advice seriously, quit his day job and celebrated by wasting all his remaining cash on spirits and olives. After asking how he afforded to get so drunk he gave me a strange look and told me that they were “on the DL”. I assumed he meant he was using my secret as currency and while I trade secrets for drinks and hats regularly, I do not trade those of my best friends, so I got mad and accused him of selling me out. At that moment, D.L. Hughley walked past wearing his signature “Brown Betty” leather jacket and Jordem asked me how I knew him and why I didn’t greet him with my usual cheek pinch and mint offering. I told him how despite my respect for the man’s career, I am not acquainted with D.L. Hughley in any way, shape or co-ed recreational sports team.  Jordem responded with, “then why did you have me charge my drinks to him?”.

Game changer.

My mind did one of those rewind things where I started to piece everything together and as a bonus I finally remembered the code to open my fridge, which I have no problem admitting was simply “ROT”. Apparently, Jordem had referred to D.L. earlier in the evening as “the Soul Plane guy” standing next to the pinball machine, which I didn’t figure out probably because of my policy on not checking out plains. Then, by revealing my secret I had inadvertently told Jord to keep drinks on the popular star in a classic case of misunderstanding.

I ran to D.L. and explained the whole scenario which he found hilarious while also revealing that Jordem had only bought one drink and some pretzel lasagna sliders which he was more than happy to take care of. I asked Jordem how he managed to get so plastered if D.L. only bought him one and he revealed that he was faking it because he hadn’t lied in awhile.

The Complete Liar’s Guide to Birthdays

The first entry in a new series called “The Liar’s Guide” is all about birthdays because everyone’s got one and because my birthday is coming up. Lying, sorry, but in a feature like this there’s bound to be a few. Lying. There’s only one lie, the one about the birthday. Lying. There are two lies now because I lied about the original lie. Lying. There are about three lies now but that would negate lie #2 so… uh… this is a great example of getting caught in what’s called a “web of lies”. I’m a great liar and my lies are web-free, leaving no feelings hurt and no need to back lies up with more lies or a phone call to your dad saying “if anyone asks, my middle name is Fuvv”.

The Liar’s Guide to… Birthdays

What to say when you receive a crummy gift

Photo Pillow case 1

“I’m sure I can turn this into a bra somehow”

“This looks tasty, I’m going to eat it”

“I’m not disappointed, but the charity I’m donating it to will be”

“Trick or treat, smell me Pete, do I smell like the kind of guy who would needs another copy of Rushmore? Ha, relax man, I’m kidding, I’ll use this one as prop in my next skit”


What to say when you don’t want to go to someone’s birthday party because you don’t like them or it sounds boring

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“Sorry, I only celebrate Christmas Eve.”

“If there’s a religion out there that doesn’t celebrate birthdays, that’s terrible, and I’m leaving right now to find them and take them down. So yeah, gonna have to miss your party.”

“I’m taking this drug that makes my ears drool if I so much as smell a cake.”

“Sorry, I have a haircut booked that day and if I cancel it I won’t be able to fit my Bart Simpson wig on the next day.”

“I poo a lot.”

“I gotta work that night and there’s no way I can switch shifts because I’m the only person who knows how to solve the onions.”

“Is it alright if I bring my sick rat?”

“I’ll come but the crew will have to come too. They’re filming a documentary about me and how I shed when I’m around other people.”


What to say when someone asks how old you are and you’re embarrassed to admit it

BP-Man-Woman

“It’s the 10th anniversary of my 20th birthday.”

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to ask my doctor that question.”

“Humans don’t have an expiry date, man”

“Dude, I got three email accounts, how old do you think I am?”

“In dog years I’m a Shetland Sheepdog”

“Why don’t you saw my arm off and count the rings?”

“Well, I’m still pretty wiggly”

“I don’t want to compromise my mission. Hey, buy a spy some fries, would you?”


How to react when the waiters sing a birthday song to you at a restaurant and you hate it

singing-happy-birthday

Simply barf


What to say to someone who forgets it’s your birthday when all you want to say is “I’m want to rip your fuckin’ eyes out”

2C73A3F9-B014-4276-8715646971CE7B73

“It’s fine, for a few weeks I thought Remembrance Day was in a month called ‘Newvembo’.”

“Kidding, my birthday isn’t for another 15 months.”

“No problem, why don’t we go to The Bay and I can pick something out for myself that you can pay for.”

“I expect you to be at my door Christmas morning with a ham and some diamonds.”

“I guarantee Jeremy Jackson forgets David Charvet’s birthday and they can’t even afford presents for each other.”

 

Letters from idiots

We had our interns steal some mail and hack some email accounts to bring you this week’s edition of Letters from idiots, the viral sensation that’s in development as a sitcom starring Tony Hale as “Guy who isn’t idiot”. Please share and if you find one of your letters here, don’t bother us, we checked and none of this is illegal unless you’re able to identify the specific thief (all our interns wear pillow cases on their heads hehehe).

Bill,

I made a reservation at that vegan restaurant. Don’t worry they do have fries lol

– Diana


What’s up Ian?

Remember yesterday when you told me that story about your dog liking peanut butter but not jam? We should turn that into a Twitter feed. I can start it but I’d love if you could help too (it is your dog after all). I know some guys with over 2k followers so it wouldn’t that hard to get it off the ground.

Hit. Me. Up.
Bear


Hey Max,

Finally got your treble clef joke from yesterday and you’re right, it does kinda look like a pregnant chick with one ball.

Love, Uncle Pete


Hey Craig, I can’t come to your party because I have like, a million things to do this week and I haven’t updated my linkedin since June. So sorry, and I hope it all goes well, i know how hard it can be planning a funeral.

LIVE. LOVE. RESPECT.

– Kerry


Andrew,

Please, please PLEASE show me how to download movies.

From Jason


Dear Mrs. White

I know you like to keep it fair by letting every student take the mouse home at least once during the school year, but not every home has the soft carpets and unlimited seeds (Jacklyn’s father works for Albright Seed) that our home has. Jacklyn loves Manny more than the other children do, I can tell. She has authored several stories called the Adventures of Manny Mouse and Jacklyn. Myself and Jackyln’s father are going to send the stories to a publishing house and get a book done so you won’t want to be on our bad side once she’s on TV and a superstar. You’re a toad.

Regards,
Jacklyn’s mother, Jackie



Hey nancy,

God did not create the zebra as means of attracting male humans to the ‘sweet spots’ of human females via panty. Call me when you buy the flesh-coloured kind.


Greetings Dave!

Heads up, we’ll be bringing our own ice cream cones because the ones at the fair likely have wheat in them. The ice cream is fine, no wheat there, but the cones we can’t be sure. Stu and I make our own at home using rice paste and gelatin. We’ll bring extra just in case.

Oliver


Hi Ruby

The cut has almost completely healed, thanks for asking. I re-filled the first aid kit and it’s better than ever. I replaced the bandages with some homemade ones I tore off Darryl’s old work shirts and I added a copy of Chicken Soup for the Salesman’s Soul, some Frog Balm from Cape Cod and six thumbtacks because I can never find any when I need them.

– Sally


Yo man,

It’s so weird that Michael Jackson is dead and still releasing albums, eh? Makes you wonder who really owns our graveyards. Next thing you know, my great grandpa will be directing transformers. Wanna go swimming tomorrow?

– Jake



Hi Nick,

How much did it cost to get your mole removed? I want to get a tattoo but I need to know how much it’ll cost to get erased if I end up hating it. I think I’m going to get the recycling symbol in that camouflage style.

– Darla


Big thanks to all the interns who made this edition of Letters from idiots possible. Below is a picture of the team from last year’s Christmas party at Belinda’s mom’s house. Most of them will be moving on at the end of the month so anyone interested in joining us next quarter should take some time to read the guidelines prior to submitting an application. 

mummering_in_jackson_s_arm1012201

The dog day of summer

pack-of-dogs

It was early September, not hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk but hot enough to heat up leftover eggs on the sidewalk. I was knelt down, filling a juice jug with water from the sprinkler, a ritual I had been performing all summer in order to make my summer certified lemonade that was selling like photos of nude women to the recently pubic. To complete the full experience I presented the drink to customers not in glasses but rather hollowed out eggshells I painted red stitches on to look like baseballs in keeping with the summer theme. If it seems like I got eggs on the brain it’s because I was born around breakfast. Anyway, if you want to read about my lemonade, pick up a copy of Business Week, this story is about dogs.

As I was kneeling there I caught the scent of dog and my eyes immediately darted down toward my belt.  When I had buckled it twenty minutes earlier, I thought I might regret wearing the one made of  beef jerky but my leather belt was currently being used by my wife to measure how many of my waists could fit into the basement in case the cloning project got funding.

Before I knew it I was surrounded by at least 25 dogs of various breeds, some with collars, some without, some barking, some sniffing, all staring at me, mouths agape and hungry for preserved meat. I decided to test their focus by casually walking up the block toward the failed Asian fusion restaurant that had only succeeded in fusing the parts of the brain that detect bad value and mediocre noodles. Sure enough, the dogs were on my tail, snout first, their own tails happily flapping away as if fanning butterflies away from a pile of raisins. They weren’t necessarily aggressive but I didn’t like how all of them were so interested in me, a creature who didn’t speak the same language or even like the same type of girls as them.

I decided not to run because I didn’t want to provoke the dogs and have them start running themselves. To me, a dog running is like a bee stinging only a dog doesn’t die after it runs unless it’s old and has a bad heart, or if it runs into a bee and it’s allergic to bees. I made a mental note to call my next band Dog Heart and continued at a brisk pace toward the graveyard where I figured the smell of bones would distract them enough to lose them. If not, at least I’d be able to finally check out that cemetery I’d never been to.

I was sweating cats and dogs and could sense the dogs reacting to my new smell like a cat reacting to a sweaty dog, so I did a quick barrel roll and left a sweat stain on the sidewalk that actually kind of looked like a dog–I’m not sure though, it was a quick glance and I might have just caught the shadow of one of the dogs. I walked 16 steps (I know the exact number because I had already decided I wanted to tell the story and needed some cold, hard facts) and gathered enough courage to look back where I saw the mutts licking at pavement, just as I had intended. I ducked into a pet store and waited until the coast was clear. Before leaving I left my belt in an iguana tank and that iguana eventually went on to star in over thirty children’s stories written by this slow kid who lived above the pet store.

Reactions the Gang had to Kool calling himself “Kool” and the rest of the band “the Gang”

In 1969, bass player Robert Bell informed his band that henceforth he would be known as “Kool”, while the band would be referred to as “the Gang”. Here are some reactions the Gang had to this news:

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“If you’re going to be Kool, then I demand you start calling me ‘Fuck Master’.”

KooltheGang8

“I didn’t quit my job washing cigarettes just to be lumped in with the rest of these mother fuckers.”

KooltheGang7

“Why not just call the rest of us ‘The Pieces of Shit’?”

KooltheGang6

“I knew that girl named ‘Sexy’ would end up being a bad influence the minute you started dating her, man.”

KooltheGang5

“I don’t understand — are you the leader of ‘the Gang’ or are you an independent entity? To whom do we pay gang dues to?”

KooltheGang4

“Are you still going to make us egg salad on Tuesdays? Because that doesn’t sound like something a guy named ‘Kool’ would be into doing.”

KooltheGang3

“It’s not so bad, I mean, gangs can be cool too, right? How about we get ourselves a symbol, something like, oh I don’t know, an old tin can full of garbage with a mother fuckin’ ‘G’ on it?”

KooltheGang2

“It could be worse I ‘spose — I heard James Brown calls his band the Piss Drinkin’ Ass Brains.”

KooltheGang1

“You named your infant son Meepy and you call yourself ‘Kool’? Poor Meepy.”