Escalating joke delivery styles, punchline pacing, and comedy formats for people with specific chaos preferences from Chaotic Meh — organized so the algorithm can pretend this place has adult supervision.
There are three guys enjoying a relaxing day of fishing. Out of the blue, they catch a mermaid who begs to be set free in return for granting them each one wish. Now one of the guys just doesn’t believe it and says, “O.K., if you can really grant wishes, then double my I.Q.”
Buying Gifts for Men
Ladies: Need help Gift Shopping for the man in your life? Buying gifts for men is not nearly as complicated as it is for women. Follow these rules and you should have no problems.
Rule #1: When in doubt – buy him a cordless drill. It does not matter if he already has one. I have a friend who owns 17 and he has yet to complain. As a man, you can never have too many cordless drills. No one knows why.
Rule #2: If you cannot afford a cordless drill, buy him anything with the word ratchet or socket in it. Men love saying those two words “Hey George, can I borrow your ratchet?” “OK. By-the-way, are you through with my 3/8-inch socket yet?” Again, no one knows why.
Rule #3: If you are really, really broke, buy him anything for his car, a 99 cent ice scraper, a small bottle of deicer or something to hang from his rear view mirror. Men love gifts for their cars. No one knows why.
Rule #4: Never buy men bathrobes. Once I was told that if God had wanted men to wear bathrobes, he wouldn’t have invented Jockey shorts.
Rule #5: You can buy men new remote controls to replace the ones they have worn out. If you have a lot of money buy your man a big-screen TV with the little picture in the corner. Watch him go wild as he flips, and flips, and flips.
Rule #6: Do not buy any man industrial-sized canisters of after-shave or deodorant. I’m told they do not stink – they are earthy.
Rule #7: Buy men label makers. Almost as good as cordless drills. Within a couple of weeks there will be labels absolutely everywhere. “Socks. Shorts. Cups. saucers. Door. Lock. Sink.” You get the idea. No one knows why. (ABSOLUTELY TRUE!!)
Rule #8: Never buy a man anything that says “some assembly required” on the box. It will ruin his Special Day and he will always have parts left over. No one knows why.
Rule #9: Good places to shop for men include Northwest Iron Works, Parr Lumber, Home Depot, John Deere, Valley RV Center, and Les Schwab Tire. (NAPA Auto Parts and Sears Clearance Centers are also excellent men’s stores.) It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know what it is. (“From NAPA Auto, eh? Must be something I need. Hey! Isn’t this a starter for a ’68 Ford Fairlane? Wow! thanks.”)
Rule #10: Men enjoy danger. That’s why they never cook – but they will barbecue. (No one knows why) Get him a monster barbecue with a 100-pound propane tank. Tell him the gas line leaks. “Oh the thrill! The challenge! Who wants a hamburger?”
Rule #11: Tickets to a Cowboys game are a smart gift. However, he will not appreciate tickets to “A Retrospective of 19th Century Quilts.” Everyone knows why.
Rule #12: Men love chain saws. Never, ever, buy a man you love a chain saw. If you don’t know why – please refer to Rule #7 and what happens when he gets a label maker.
Rule #13: It’s hard to beat a really good wheelbarrow or an aluminum extension ladder. Never buy a real man a stepladder. It must be an extension ladder. No one knows why.
Rule #14: Rope. Men love rope. It takes us back to our cowboy origins, or at least The Boy Scouts. Nothing says love like a hundred feet of 3/8″ manila rope. No one knows why.
Because I’m a guy, I must hold the television remote control in my hand while I watch TV. If the thing has been misplaced, I’ll miss a whole show looking for it, though one time I was able to survive by holding a calculator.
Because I’m a guy, when I lock my keys in the car I will fiddle with a wire clothes hanger and ignore your suggestions that we call a road service until long after hypothermia has set in. Oh, and when the car isn’t running very well, I will pop the hood and stare at the engine as if I know what I’m looking at. If another guy shows up, one of us will say to the other, “I used to be able to fix these things, but now with all these computers and everything, I wouldn’t know where to start.” We will then drink beer.
Because I’m a guy, when I catch a cold I need someone to bring me soup and take care of me while I lie in bed and moan. You never get as sick as I do, so for you this isn’t an issue.
Because I’m a guy, I can be relied upon to purchase basic groceries at the store, like milk, or bread. I cannot be expected to find exotic items like “Cumin” or “Tofu.” For all I know these are the same thing. And never, under any circumstances, expect me to pick up anything for which “feminine hygiene product” is a euphemism.
Because I’m a guy, when one of our appliances stops working I will insist on taking it apart, despite evidence that this will just cost me twice as much once the repair person gets here and has to put it back together.
Because I’m a guy, I don’t think we’re all that lost, and no, I don’t think we should stop and ask someone. Why would you listen to a complete stranger — how the heck could HE know where we’re going?
Because I’m a guy, there is no need to ask me what I’m thinking about. The answer is always either women or football, though I have to make up something else when you ask, so don’t.
Because I’m a guy, I do not want to visit your mother, or have your mother come visit us, or talk to her when she calls, or think about her any more than I have to. Whatever you got her for mother’s day is ok, I don’t need to see it. Did you remember to pick up something for my mom, too?
Because I’m a guy, I am capable of announcing, “one more beer and I really have to go,” and mean it every single time I say it, even when it gets to the point that the one bar closes and my buddies and I have to go hunt down another. I will find it increasingly hilarious to have my pals call you to tell you I’ll be home soon, and no, I don’t understand why you threw all my clothes into the front yard. What’s the connection?
Because I’m a guy, you don’t have to ask me if I liked the movie. Chances are, if you’re crying at the end of it, I didn’t.
Because I’m a guy, yes, I have to turn up the radio when Bruce Springsteen or The Doors comes on, and then, yes, I have to tell you every single time about how Bruce had his picture on the cover of Time and Newsweek the same day, or how Jim Morrison is buried in Paris and everyone visits his grave. Please do not behave as if you do not find this fascinating.
Because I’m a guy, I think what you’re wearing is fine. I thought what you were wearing five minutes ago was fine, too. Either pair of shoes is fine. With the belt or without it looks fine. Your hair is fine. You look fine. Can we just go now?
Because I’m a guy and this is, after all, the 90’s, I will share equally in the housework. You do the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning, and the dishes. I’ll do the rest.
A man and his wife were gardening in the back yard when the husband looks up to see his wife bending over to pick some flowers. He looks at her rear and then looks at the Webber Bar-B-Q, noticing that they are the same size.
He says to his wife, “Your butt is as big as our Bar-B-Q!”
She ignores him and goes back to her gardening. The husband can’t stand it so he goes to the garage and gets a tape measure and measures the Bar-B-Q and his wife’s rear and they are exactly the same size.
That night in bed the husband starts to cuddle with his wife, but the wife says, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
The husband says, “I thought I was gonna get a little tonight.”
His wife replies, “If you think that I’m going to fire up this Webber Bar-B-Q for one little weenie, you are crazy!”
