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January 24, 2011

Two San Francisco Heroes

One from Oakland, one from Stockton.

In 1975, I was twenty, coming back from Africa, on the last link, LA-SF, of a long trip, 25 flights in all, and I sat next to a small Asian woman who was friendly but tense. She told me that she was a professor of English at UC Berkeley. I responded that my parents had both gone there, that I had wanted to but was not accepted. Too white, too male, we both agreed. She grew up in Stockton where I was living, where my dad was from.

We drank our juice and rode out the short flight. When landing was announced, this nice woman leaned close and asked if she could please hold my hand during landing because she was terrified of flying. Of course. She gripped my hand and arm hard and pressed back in her seat until we were safely on the ground.

About a year later, I saw her picture in the newspaper. Her first book had just come out, The Woman Warrior. Her name is Maxine Hong Kingston, one of the most famous and best California writers. From Stockton like Dad.

This morning her picture was on the front page of the newspaper again. Her new book is called, I Love a Broad Margin to My Life.

When I was a kid we didn’t have a television until I was about five or six. (Thank you parents) When we did get a tiny box, my mother would watch and mimic Jack LaLanne, the exercise guy from right there in San Francisco. Later my dad would also change his schedule so he could lie on the floor and stretch with Jack. Later I also did the push-ups and sit-ups that President Kennedy suggested along with Jack. Everybody loved to exercise with Jack LaLanne.

His jumpsuit was a little weird, but his muscles and his exploits like swimming to Alcatraz and back in chains, convinced us that by following his method you could live better and longer. A bit of skepticism remained, however. I said, “what if he spent his whole life exercising and eating well and then dies anyway.” Jack LaLanne died yesterday at age 96.

He exercised till the end, two hours a day in the gym and one hour in the pool. He followed his natural diet all the way to its natural conclusion. Now, wouldn’t you like to live healthy and happy, with your brain fresh and body fully functional (his wife was always smiling) until almost 100 years of age? Never too late to start, Jack would say.

I’d like to go on and on about my hero, but I can’t be late for my Pilates lesson.

Happy trials, Martin

Mutt: Why is it that if someone tells you that there are a billion stars in the universe, you will believe them; but if they tell you a wall has wet paint, you will have to touch it to be sure?
Jeff: Snow White took photos of the Dwarfs and their surroundings. She took the film to be developed. After a week or so she went to get the finished photos. The clerk said the photos were not back from the processor. Needless to say, she was disappointed and started to cry. The clerk, trying to console her, said, "Don't worry. Someday your prints will come."
Mutt: If a pig loses its voice, is it disgruntled?
Jeff: Sometimes when I'm bored, I make spaghetti just to pasta time away.
Mutt: How do crazy people go through the forest?
Jeff: They take the psycho path.
Mutt: What do you get from a pampered cow?
Jeff: Don’t tell me.
Mutt: Spoiled milk.
Jeff: What do you call a boomerang that doesn't work?
Mutt: I dunno.
Jeff: A stick.

January 21, 2011

Come Back, Shame, Come Back!

Some things you must always be unable to bear. Some things you must never stop refusing to bear. Injustice and outrage and dishonor and shame. No matter how young you are or how old you have got. Not for kudos and not for cash. Your picture in the paper nor money in the bank, neither. Just refuse to bear them.  William Faulkner
Used to be, you’d get caught with your hand in the cookie jar and lie, cry, sigh, ask why, deny, something. Out of shame. We shaved our fingers in gest-ure. Now the crooked politicos and businesspersons, cheating students and lovers go through a revolving door from success to disgrace and back to success. Shouldn’t [place name here] Martha Stewart be hiding her face in shame, never again leaving her estate? Guess not. Celebrities busted (and we chuckle), plug-in families with interchangeable pieces, sex with for-sale strangers—hey, that’s show biz!

I know a couple people who have been arrested, convicted, jailed, released, and I can’t get over how they go right back to their daily lives as if nothing had happened. The whole business slides off like fried eggs on Teflon. What’s changed? Maybe I didn’t see clearly because I was young, but it wasn’t like this in the past. People cried, repented, begged forgiveness, paid penance. At least they mounted an improbable defense like sweaty “I am not a crook” Nixon. Like Academy Award evangelist, Jimmy Swaggart. Clinton, Letterman, the Pope (sort of).

Nowadays we seem to be imitating the psychopaths who rule our newswaves and tvwaves. “I shot all those people. Yeah, so?” “I stole all that money. Yeah, so?” “I betrayed your trust. Yeah, so?” We’ve developed tortoise shells of indifference to our own guilt. Or become very good at hiding it.

Remember the nightmare where you’re onstage and realize you’re naked? That’s not a nightmare anymore, it’s a dream come true. It’s the aspiration of the younger generation, the big bang, the reality joke. And I’m not talking about shame for nakedness, like Father Serra on his first visit to California:

“I found myself in front of twelve of them, and I saw something I could not believe. It was this: they were entirely naked as Adam in the garden, before sin. We spoke a long time with them, and not for one moment, while they saw us clothed, could you notice the least sign of shame in them.”
And I’m not talking about shaming others, which shouldn’t work, or the worst of all, when society makes people feel shame towards themselves. I heard an Indian say that the white schools made him ashamed of being an Indian. That’s some education! Gays ashamed. The overweight. Teenagers with poor complexions. The illiterate. Sick people. Unwed mothers. No one should feel ashamed for who they are, but only for what they do. Isn’t that right? Isn’t that what we were taught?

I don’t want anyone to feel misplaced or exaggerated shame (the guilt trip goes nowhere), but some wouldn’t hurt. Shame, when it’s working, makes you wish you could dig a hole and jump in; extreme humiliation, remorse, embarrassment. And for good reason. Guilt is realizing you have done wrong. Condemnation is being sentenced for doing wrong. But shame is self-sentencing, the real punishment, the feeling that you’re unworthy, depraved, rotten. Shame should be a feeling so bad and so strong that we avoid it like an electric fence. Change your plans, go around the obstacle, anything, but don’t touch that wire!

You don’t need a church to tell you what’s wrong, what to avoid. Or schools, parents, the social order. You know. It’s not so flexible. You know. Before the ten commandments, they already knew. All the rest is excuses and justifications. Our punishment-reward system is built-in. We know the right thing, though we don't always do it. But when cheaters prosper, when crime pays, when exhibitionism is rewarded and when nobody seems scandalized or ashamed of anything anymore, the non-cheaters feel, well, stupid. Is honesty stupid today? Modesty passé?

This fat ugly old guy who works at my university, in the registrar’s office was trading, um, blow jobs for straight A’s. Despicable, right? So he gets caught, goes to jail, goes to trial, gets convicted, does a few weeks time, gets out, gets his six-month notice for early retirement ... and comes back to work, and spends his days sitting in the corridor, that we all pass through, yucking it up with students and profs alike, teasing passersby.  I mean, has the world gone insane or what?

Not to mention Berlusconi, and I prefer not to mention Berlusconi. This post is not about him. I’m sick of his raunchy sex life. Please leave us alone, go crawl in your bunker in the Bahamas. You should be ashamed. And everyone who voted you, and everyone who defends you, and everyone who is not embarrassed by and for you. Enough already.

Happy trials, Martin

Mutt: The Tate Watch Co., established in the 1880s in Massachusetts …
Jeff: Oh goody, I love history.
Mutt: The Tate Watch Co., established in the 1880s in Massachusetts, wanted to expand their line of products. They decided on compasses, reasoning that the pioneers traveling west would all need one. Their watches were of excellent quality, not so their compasses. Pioneers often ended up in Canada or Mexico. Hence the expression, "He who has a Tate is lost."
Jeff: I used to love history.
Mutt: Your turn.
Jeff: A group of chess enthusiasts checked into a hotel and were standing around in the lobby discussing their recent tournament victories. About an hour later, the manager comes out of his office and asks them to disperse. "But why?" they asked as they moved along. "Because," said the manager, "I can't stand chess nuts boasting in an open foyer."
Mutt: Every one a winner. How about the guy who goes to the psychiatrist and says, “Doc, I can't stop singing 'The green, green grass of home.'”
Jeff: And the doctor says, “That sounds like the Tom Jones syndrome.”
Mutt: And the guy says, “Is it common?”
Jeff: And the doc says … (All together now)
Mutt and Jeff: “It's not unusual!”

January 20, 2011


The management of Sunset Intersection, and the special quiz committee, wish to thank all those who took part in the first and best of the many-more-where-that-came-from S.I. quizzes. There were some good and witty guesses, but all wrong. I will be keeping the first prize Ferrari.

In Italian there’s a word that has no English equivalent: coetanee. Other people your own age. A brotherhood/sisterhood begun at the same time many years ago. Your kinfolks, even when you’ve never met and never will. I like that.

The next big quiz will involve a chicken and an egg in a rumpled bed smoking cigarettes, and the question will be: Which came first?

Stay tuned for that and much more.

Happy trials, Martin

Mutt: Two cannibals are eating a clown. One says to the other:
Jeff: I know, I know,  "Does this taste funny to you?"
Mutt: A plateau is a high form of flattery.
Jeff: Alarms:
Mutt: Huh?
Jeff: What an octopus is.
Mutt: Oowah.
Jeff: Did you know that William Tell and his family were avid bowlers?
Mutt: William Tell? No.
Jeff: It's true. But, unfortunately, a fire destroyed all the league records.
Mutt: That’s terrible.
Jeff: Yes. So we'll never know for whom the Tells bowled.

January 16, 2011


True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country.  Kurt Vonnegut

That’s it, the correct answer: All those people on the A-list, the B-list and the Italian list are exactly my own age, give or take a few months. They didn’t go to my high school, but they would have graduated in the same year or the next. We all saw the same I Love Lucy reruns growing up. We were all in the same hospital nursery in side-by-side cribs.

I don’t know if that’s terror or community, but it strikes me. If I ever meet someone on that list, I’ll have a conversation starter. It makes me feel like I should be on a list of people my age doing something. Doing what? Something.

Maybe the real list contains a lot of real people whose lives and work are much more important than the celebrities, athletes and artists on my list of famous names. Okay then, let’s start making a list of the ordinary people my age (or your age) doing ordinary things in their mid-life. Keeping themselves together and keeping together those they care about in times of terror when we all feel like suicide bombers about to explode. What can keep us whole, sane, at peace?

If you go back a couple posts you can find one answer: each other. And I say that as one with very few friends, a small family and some general doubts about the attractiveness of my fellow humans. But, as any alien invasion film will show, we grasp onto one another, to members of our own species, in times of crisis. The problem is that this is a constant time of crisis. Yeah, but People, we made this mad, mad world of fear, we can unmake it. [Group hug here.]

Happy trials, Martin

Mutt: What would you get if you crossed a donkey with an owl?
Jeff: A smart ass who knows it all.
Mutt: Like you. So what did the coach say to his losing team of snakes?
Jeff: You can't venom all.
Mutt: What would you get if you crossed a pigeon and a general?
Jeff: I’m on strike.
Mutt: A military coo.
Jeff: Alright, what did the Buddhist say to the hot dog vendor?
Mutt: Um, make me one with everything.
Jeff: That’s right. Now I’ve got a query for you.
Mutt: You always have been queery.
Jeff: If I hated my house and fell in love with my office building, would that be an edifice complex?
Mutt: Nix, Jeff, Nix.

January 13, 2011

Il primo grande Sunset Intersection Whiz-a Bang-a quiz! Un indizio per i lettori di lingua italiana.

La domanda è: cosa hanno in comune queste persone?

Diego Abatantuono
Alessandro Altobelli
Massimo Bubola
Novella Calligaris
Sergio Caputo
Milly Carlucci
Pier Ferdinando Casini
Bruno Conti
Pino Daniele
Teresa De Sio
Zucchero Fornaciari
Angela Finocchiaro
Anna Galiena
Gene Gnocchi
Ezio Greggio
Riccardo Illy
Gad Lerner
Fiorella Mannoia
Roberto Maroni
Daniele Masala
Ornella Muti
Francesco Nuti
Donatella Rettore
Francesco Rutelli
Marco Tardelli
Ricky Tognazzi
Livia Turco
Walter Veltroni
Donatella Versace

Buon quiz, Martin

January 12, 2011

The First Big Bang-Whiz Sunset Intersection Quiz HINT!

Isabelle Adjani
Francisco X. Alarcon
Dodi Al Fayed
Dave Alvin
Melody Anderson
Adam Ant
Scott Bakula
Ellen Barkin
James Belushi
Chris Berman
Tim Berners-Lee
Sandra Bernhard
Mary Black
Bruce Bochy
Joseph Bottoms
Sam Bottoms
Lorraine Bracco
Bob Brenly
Christie Brinkley
Simon J. Bronner
Bob Brozman
Chris Cain
Jane Campion
Caleb Carr
Robert Carradine
Gary Carter
Dana Carvey
Rosanne Cash
Tommy Castro
Mark David Chapman
Sandra Cisneros
Jack Clark
Willem Dafoe
Jeff Daniels
Judy Davis
Andre Dawson
Al Di Meola
Griffin Dunne
Steve Earle
Dennis Eckersley
Tommy Emmanuel
Louise Erdrich
Chris Evert
Miguel Ferrer
Mark Fidrych
Steve Forbert
William Forsythe
Vitas Gerulaitus
Kelsey Grammer
Paul Greengrass
David Allen Grier
David Grossman
Nina Hagen
Julie Hagerty
Dennis Haysbert
Patty Hearst
Margaux Hemingway
David Hidalgo
Tish Hinojosa
Bruce Hornsby
Mike Huckabee
Billy Idol
Kazuo Ishiguro
Jermaine Jackson
Joe Jackson
Penn Jillette
Howard Jones
Rickie Lee Jones
David Keith
Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.
Barbara Kingsolver
Earl Klugh
Jeff Koons
Olga Korbut
Jon Krakauer
Stieg Larsson
Ang Lee
Johnnie LeMaster
Jeffery Leonard
Mara Liasson
Ray Liotta
Reba McEntire
Peter MacNicol
Moses Malone
Howie Mandel
Pat Metheny
Anthony Minghella
Bruce Molsky
John Mooney
Michael Moore
Edwin Moses
Kate Mulgrew
Bill Mumy
Terry Nichols
Greg Norman
Chris Noth
Bill Nye
Tim O’Brien
Ken Olin
Lena Olin
Jay Osmond
Ray Parker Jr.
Tim Parks
Will Patton
Bill Paxton
Walter Payton
Steven Pinker
Michel Platini
Freddie Prinze
Luis Pujols
Linda Purl
Dennis Quaid
Willie Randolph
Stan Ridgway
John Roberts
Tanya Roberts
Al Roker
David Lee Roth
Rene Russo
Ken Salazar
Ricky Scaggs
Richard Schiff
Peter Scolari
Connie Sellecca
Al Sharpton
Maria Shriver
Ozzie Smith
Jimmy Smits
Sonia Sotomayor
Howard Stern
Rick Steves
Kathleen Turner
Luis Alberto Urrea
Eddie Van Halen
Greta Van Susteren
Stevie Ray Vaughan
Bob Weinstein
Juan Williams
Terry Tempest Williams
Cassandra Wilson
Nancy Wilson
Debra Winger
Steven Wright
Robin Yount
Chow Yun-fat
Djamel Zidane
Adrian Zmed
Axel Zwingenberger

Again Happy Guessing, Martin

January 9, 2011

The First Big Whiz-Bang Sunset Intersection Quiz!

Here's the question: What do the following people have in common? (Please only one guess per customer)

Rowan Atkinson
James Cameron
Jackie Chan
Hugo Chavez
Joel Coen
Elvis Costello
Kevin Costner
Bill Gates
Whoopi Goldberg
John Grisham
Matt Groening
Ron Howard
Steve Jobs
Annie Lennox
Yo-Yo Ma
Angela Merkel
Condoleezza Rice
Nicolas Sarkozy
Jerry Seinfeld
Gary Sinise
Billy Bob Thornton
John Travolta
Denzel Washington
Bruce Willis
Oprah Winfrey

Happy guessing, Martin

Mutt: We got demoted after the world's longest pun, didn't we?
Jeff: It's a good thing tar and feathers are out of fashion.
Mutt: We have ways, however, of getting our revenge. Watch this: Old sculptors never die, they just lose their marbles.
Jeff: So you're into torture now: Old investors never die, they just roll over.
Mutt: Old owls never die, they just don't give a hoot.
Jeff: Old tanners never die, they just go into hiding.
Mutt: Old chauffeurs never die, they just lose their drive.
Jeff: Old archers never die, they just bow and quiver.
Mutt: Old quarterbacks never die, they just pass away.
Jeff: Old schools never die, they just lose their principals.
Mutt: Old soldiers never die. Young ones do.

Jeff: Oowah! You referring to Afghanistan? Nine years on and no end in sight. Oowah!

January 5, 2011

World's Longest Pun

Mutt: Hey Jeff, you ever hear the one about the Fu Bird?
Jeff: Would I want to?
Mutt: Oh, it's a great story, if a little long. You might say a tad long-ish, just a tad. But worth it. Definitely. Really.
Jeff: I've got a dentist appointment this afternoon, but I'm sure this will be more painful.
Mutt: A number of years ago there lived on Long Island, a wealthy business man who had made and lost a couple of fortunes on Wall Street in his short 29 years. At the time of this story, the business man was enjoying his third fortune and had taken a year off from work. His mother had recently died, and one day while he was exploring some old chests in the attic of the huge farmhouse in the Adirondac Mountains near Lake Placid, he came across a map that was obviously very, very old. Something striking about the map immediately caught his attention. After studying the map for several days, the business man became convinced that this was indeed an authentic map to the fabled Seven Cities of Cybolla. Persistent stories handed down from generation to generation told of a fabulously wealthy circle of seven cities whose exact location had been lost somewhere in the deep, dark jungles of Africa and had never been found. These stories also told of fabulous stores of jewels, gold and priceless artifacts that still existed for anyone who could locate the seven cities.

The business man was determined to be the first to find the Seven Cities of Cybolla and to claim its treasures, so he confided in two of his closest friends and persuaded them to join him. Together, they sailed to Africa, rode overland for four days and found themselves in the small town of Aba on the border of the deepest jungles in what was once the Belgian Congo. There they organized a safari of 25 native porters carrying food, clothing, supplies and large, empty boxes with which to carry the treasures out of the jungle.

Early the next morning, a line of native porters led by the three Americans headed out into the jungles. Travel was slow in the intense heat and humidity of the tropical forest, particularly as they had to literally cut every inch of their path by swinging huge machetes to clear away the vines and undergrowth. For four days of grueling travel, following the markings on the old map, the safari made its way across swollen rivers, through mosquito infested swamps and past many alligator nests. At high noon on the fifth day, while the safari was resting from its exhausting work, the group suddenly heard a terrifying sound off in the distance in the direction in which the safari was headed. "Fu.... Fu.... Fu..." was the sound.

The members of the safari looked at each other, unsure what was making such a shrieking, ungodly sound. All of a sudden, there appeared in the air directly over the group, a huge, black bird, screaming at a deafening level, "FU!!! FU!!! FU!!!" In one swoop, the Fu bird took aim at the first of the three Americans at the head of the safari, dove headlong through the air at near supersonic speed in a dive bombing run so well executed that any military pilot would have been impressed, and completely covered the man with crap. It was a terrible, vile smelling mess! The poor man quickly ran to the edge of the nearby stream, dove in and immediately began to scrub away at the disgusting crap. After an hour of hard work, the majority of the stuff had been washed away and the man felt he was ready to move on again. That night, while everyone else was sleeping, the man died.

The rest of the expedition were truly saddened by the death of the man, but the two remaining American organizers decided that they should continue on in spite of this tragedy. They were sure their friend would have wanted it that way and besides, now the loot only had to be split two ways. Before long they were on their way, hacking their path through the jungle after they had properly buried the body of their friend. Unfortunately they had not gone too far when once again they heard the sounds of the approaching Fu bird: "Fu.... Fu.... Fu...." The safari members began to run for cover but it was too late and the huge Fu bird suddenly appeared at the head of the line of running people, took aim at the American in the lead, and dumped a tremendous load which covered the man from head to foot. As the poor man raced to the stream to wash the terrible mess off, he stopped, remembering that the first man had died after he had cleaned away the very same kind of crap. Perhaps, he reasoned, there was a connection between washing and his unfortunate death. With that, the second man returned to the group, determined not to take a bath as long as he could stand it. That determination lasted for nearly a week when finally it became so unbearable in appearance, smell and discomfort that the man finally gave in. He went to the stream and cleaned the mess from his body. Later that night, while everyone else was sleeping, he died.

The business man who had initiated the safari was very sad because he had lost two of his closest friends, but decided to continue because he knew his friends would have wanted him to. Besides, the loot would be his alone with no need to share the treasures with anyone else! The next morning he climbed to the top of a hill and to his amazement, there at his feet, lay a lush, tropical valley and the Seven Cities of Cybolla glittering in all their glory. The business man rushed down the hill, along the banks of the river and made his way to the entrance of the cities. As he ran deliriously through the streets of the cities he yelled "They are mine!! It's all mine!!!" He yelled so loudly and was so overwhelmed at his unbelievable discovery that he didn't hear the approaching Fu bird. The gigantic bird took aim at the business man and as accurately as in his first two attacks, smartly deposited the largest load of crap yet on the man running through the empty streets. The stunned man stopped and was about to rush to the stream to wash the mess off when he realized that it would be certain and immediate death in the night to do so. He sadly realized that he had discovered the world's richest treasures, but had also been given the cross of isolation at the same time.

To make a very long story somewhat shorter, the business man did claim all the wealth of the Seven Cities of Cybolla, returned to America and lived a very long life in all the luxury his unmeasured wealth could afford. However, he enjoyed his wealth as a lonely, isolated man. His wife, his children, his family and his friends disowned him because of the absolutely disgusting appearance and stench of the man because of the crap. They did not understand why he refused to wash the mess and clean himself.

After many, lonely years, he neared death. Realizing he had only a few more days to live, the business man decided he wanted more than anything else to see his wife and children again. Carefully, he went into the shower with steel wool cleaning pads and a chisel. It took him most of the day, but he was clean and ready to greet his family at the door when they arrived for dinner. He spent a wonderful evening sharing with the family, catching up on all the news and local gossip, and finally they left.

Later that night, the business man died...

Now I would not have imposed upon your time and attention without having a purpose. I am very sensitive to the value of time and am determined to make the time you have given to this story worthwhile. My goal in telling this story is to draw from the experience of this heroic and fabulously wealthy man and learn so that we might become better and more mature individuals. I believe the true message of this story is, in fact, a moral with deep meaning for us all:
"If the Fu shits, wear it."

Jeff: Disgusting.
Mutt: Yeah. Good though. You're groaning today, but you'll be telling it tomorrow.

[Pedersen's note: if you know a longer pun, please send it in and win a prize.]

Happy trials, Martin

January 2, 2011

Neal Gets Hot

After a particularly brutal exam session, in which a large percentage of students failed, Neal thought he could justify/explain his correcting/judging work at the first lesson of the new semester.

He studied the problem in his mind for many days. The lightbulb finally went on: Eureka. Heat. We examiners are like weather-persons telling the viewers what the situation is according to our information. Passing along data. We don’t intervene or influence the weather, we just report it. Storms ain't our fault.

Your level of English knowledge and skill, above or below the sufficiency for the level of exam you took? If you took a lower level exam it might be above, but now it is below the more advanced level. It works. The temperature metaphor.

All this is a reaction to the classic, “you failed me/I passed” syndrome. The students blame us for their own deficiencies. Natural enough, but if a learner must take responsibility for her/his own learning, the blame game must be overcome.

So Neal was preaching this little sermon at the opening of the new lessons, and turned his back to draw an illustration on the board. “Your marks on exams, written and oral, are like the temperature on a thermometer...”

“Look. Here’s a thermometer. I’m no artist, as you can tell. Here’s a thermometer with the mercury in the bulb at the bottom, and here are the temperature markings. Here’s freezing: 32 degrees Fahrenheit or 0 degrees Celsius.”

Neal thought it was going pretty well. There was twittering in the background. Probably the students were impressed by his knowledge of science.

“Now if the temperature (or your exam mark) is here, it’s freezing. Insufficient. If it’s here, it’s cold but acceptable. What you need to try to do is continually improve. If you’re here today, you could be here tomorrow (or next year rather). It’s only a question of hard work. Give it your all and the temperature will rise.”

Neal heard smirking noises of presumed agreement as he drew the mercury rising in the tall thermometer up the blackboard. He chalked in the ascent up to the top—boiling point. Hot hot hot! A+++

Then the room broke out in hilarity and roared with free laughter. Neal thought that what he was saying was not that funny, that the disappointed F-students should be a little more serious. Something told him that they were laughing at him, but he couldn’t fathom why.

Neal turned to the crowd, now that he had become their favorite comedian. He turned back to the board. What was it? His fly was not open (he checked). Was his thermometer metaphor really so clever?

“Oh my God, I’ve drawn a giant boner!” Neal exclaimed. And brought down the house.

Happy trials, Martin

Mutt: A white lie is aversion of the truth.
Jeff: What inspired that thought?
Mutt: What thought?
Jeff: What happened when the cow tried to jump over a barbed wire fence?
Mutt: Uhhhh ...
Jeff: Udder destruction.
Mutt: When I was in the supermarket I saw a man and a woman wrapped in a barcode. I asked, "Are you two an item?"
Jeff: What do you call a fish with no eyes?
Mutt: Uhhhh ...
Jeff: A fsh.
Mutt: I fired my masseuse today. She just rubbed me the wrong way.
Jeff: I tried working in a bakery, but was told I wasn't "bread" for it.
Mutt: What did the toy store sign say?
Jeff: Uhhhh ...
Mutt: Don't feed the animals. They are already stuffed.
Jeff: A horse walks into a bar. The bartender says, "So, why the long face?"
Mutt: What do you call a baby monkey? A chimp off the old block.
Jeff: Was there a year-end sale on second-hand jokes?
Mutt: Uhhhh ...